#warning: hell depiction

[yandereloveraw]

Drew Archeye (Antisepticeye and Archie's fusion) and Y/N in the fitting Hell scene from Avenged Sevenfold's "A Little Piece Of Heaven" music video. ^^

(Some warnings for the music video if you haven't already seen it: It includes graphic imagery of murder, necrophilia/defiling of a corpse, and cannibalism.)

[daily-odile]

everything is the same except Odile is the one looping

oh. heheheheh. muahahahaha. hold on *digs through my pile of disorganized sketches*

Odile loops au; a sketch compilation!!

Some old fic drabbles + associated sketches under cut (a6 secret spoilers):

hc: Since equipment carries over, as long as Odile uses her book in a fight, she can write down notes and have it carry over loops

toxic doomed yuri (for a more fleshed out fic I highly recommend The Sweetest Thing by soreimoon, it's amazing)

[ytcomments-archive]

[aziraphales-library]

hi!! stumbled across this page just after season 2 came out, just wanted to say thank you for all the work you do, you're all amazing!!! i was wondering if you had any more fics for the #hell is terrible tag? thanks again !!! <3333

Hello. Here are some fics to add to the #hell is terrible tag. Mind the tags and warnings on some of these!...

The Storm's Red Ruin by EdosianOrchids901 (T)

After being tortured in Hell, Crowley returns to Earth. Unfortunately, he’s so badly injured that he’s on the verge of discorporation. Can Aziraphale save him?

Feathered Downfall by fractalgeometry (T)

Crowley doesn't usually fuck up this badly. Hell isn't usually this mad. It hurts. He didn't think he wanted Aziraphale to show up at his house afterwards, either, but maybe...maybe that part is all right after all.

An Unexpected Meeting by lydiagwilt (T)

“First thing’s first,” said Aziraphale, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “Let’s get you somewhere warm. I know a lovely cantina in the south quarter. Open fire in winter (is it winter? I do lose track), plenty of wine. Here,” he extracted himself rather painstakingly from his fur-lined cloak. “Take this. I don’t need it.” Crowley finally raised his eyes, looking up with a strange half-smile that sent a shiver of apprehension down Aziraphale’s spine. “It’s not that kind of cold, angel.” Or, Aziraphale finds Crowley in a dungeon at the height of the Spanish Inquisition.

Have To Take You In by Snowfilly1 (T)

Crowley wants to go home. Wants it so badly he can taste it. Wants to go home, have the walls around him and the warmth, the light, the barriers that keep everyone else away.His feet are soaked through his boots; the grass around the bench has long since been trampled to liquid mud. The rest of him is just cold. He’s too drunk to even make an attempt at a miracle. Aziraphale is here at least. Or, Crowley is in Hell's good books, and that's a horrifying place to be. Aziraphale offers what comfort he can.

Morose Delectation by Unuora (M)

The nightmare began when Crowley woke up in Hell. To most people that would seem like an expected place for a nightmare to start, but to Crowley, even with all its various trappings, Hell was mostly just a place. “We have a new assignment for you, Crowley,” Beelzebub says. There’s an ominous hum in their voice. For the first time in many eons it sends a shiver down Crowley’s spine. “Directly from the top. We think you’ll find it interezzzting.” Beelzebub snaps and then they’re gone. In their place is an angel. Not just any angel. In their place is Aziraphale.

Your Other Half by anyofmany (T)

Crowley is sent to the dungeons of Hell to execute a captive angel -- who stalls him with an absolutely insane story about averting the Apocalypse and a grand romance between the two of them. Hell's just taken Crowley's memory of it all as part of their punishment. How can Aziraphale gain Crowley's trust when everything about the truth is too fantastic to believe? Can he trust who Crowley is without any of the best memories of his life? And what will it take to save them both?

- Mod D

[anodymalion]

i am committed to making every fic I write even more niche and more sad and weird and less appealing to an audience than my previous ones

[autism-disco]

you ever read a book

[fromthedeskoftheminister]

Aimless in the Starlight

Summary: They say curiosity drives people. And that drive starts with trying to figure out what you don’t know. But when you don’t know what you don’t know, much less the things you know you’re supposed to know everything ends up a bit of a muddled mess. Read it on Ao3! Vaugely Beta’d by the marvelous OceanstoForests!

                                                               ****

“There’s…”  Voices were talking, people were nearby but the blackness was all consuming and comfortable.  It was so easy to ignore them and slip back into it.  A slightly disjointed and gradually increasing pounding noise made it impossible to remain there for long.  The voices were closer now, an indecipherable murmur before the word „Ceepeaer?“ came through. 

No, that wasn’t needed whatever it was. What was needed was the darkness and it was a struggle to stay in its safety. And then there was pressure, lightly as if searching for something, and a different voice saying "Pulse is there, but slow. Still not breathing?"

Oh. Breathing. That was supposed to be happening. Probably. People were more comfortable if one was breathing. But if breathing was happening then the comforting darkness would go. More hands, slight movement, and then sudden heavy pressure. It relented but not for long. It was there again, then it backed off once more, then again, and again and then the choice was taken as a sudden forced influx of air kick started that whole breathing process, catapulting him out of the darkness.

He shot upright, not acknowledging his near collision with the two voices as everything flooded in, assaulting him with a cacophony of sensations. He was aware of everything from the recycled and stale air to the bright florescent lights catching and throwing little daggers into his eyes before he had closed them. Adding to the overwhelming assult was the ever present and inescapable low thrum that he could both feel and hear sitting on the metal grate as he was. He cracked his eyes open just a sliver, registering only the colors of pink and jade before squeezing his eyes closed once more. He couldn’t even look at them. It was all too much and he went back to trying to ignore all of the everything that was happening but it was futile. A deep breath caused something in his chest to spasm and he lurched forward, hunching over himself and coughing up a storm as his lungs tried to vacate his body.

Despite the suddenness of his movements, the voices apparently didn’t think of him as much of a threat, which was a thought that made no sense, why would he be a threat, for there were cool gentle hands on him, encouraging him to stop curling in over himself with a soft “Nonono, don't hunch over, that won’t help. They really don't sound good, Dan Heng. Are you sure you did it right?“ While another set of hands braced him slightly and rubbed soothing circles into his back.

A quiet mhm came from behind him, Dan Heng must be the soothing circles, as he tried to reassure this pair of people that he was in fact fine before another bout of coughing overtook him. The voice from before returned. “Seriously, ok, try to match my breathing, it’ll be ok.“ A hand moved his from the floor to something warm, someone's chest maybe, and it continued “In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four, Out, two, three, four.” 

He couldn’t say how long it took him to recover his breathing, everything felt heavy and slow but they stayed with him as it calmed down and the sensations became more manageable. He tugged lightly, and the hand holding his released and he took another deep breath. Still not looking at anything he pulled himself to his feet with minor assistance from whoever it was beside him. “Thanks” he said, or tried to, but all that came out was a rusty sounding croak. He winced and looked sheepishly at the pair who had sat with him.

“Cat got your tongue?” Pink asked, lightly teasing and his eyes were drawn directly to the pink and blue bedecked person before him, “Or is my cuteness so great that you’ve forgotten how to speak?”

A heavy sigh came from beside him and he turned ever so slightly as Jade, Dan Heng maybe?, passed him something cool. He stared down at the strange container of clear liquid in his hands in mild confusion. What exactly was he supposed to do with this? His confusion was apparently rather evident as a hand reached over and twisted the narrow top which came off easily. “Stop pestering people about your “cuteness” March, much less when they’ve just regained consciousness.” Grey eyes met blue and Jade gestured to the container. “You should probably drink that. It’ll help.”

Right. Yes. Drinking liquid. He nodded and raised the container to his mouth. He’s not entirely sure what drinking entails exactly but his body apparently does and he manages to take a small sip with little difficulty. The liquid is cool and to his surprise it has some sort of taste, but a very mild one that he wouldn’t be able to describe at all. Jade isn’t wrong either. It does help, his throat feels much better  after clearing it once he's actually able to get out comprehensible words “Thanks.”

“There we go!” Pink cheers. “Right ok, you were unconscious. We should check that everything’s all right then! How’re you feeling?”

“Sore.” He says simply, taking another small sip before gesturing to his chest and head.

“Makes sense, makes sense." Pink, March he corrects himself, says peering up at him "Your pupils seem normal, so I don't think you're concussed but just to be sure, do you know where you are?”

He's in a room? Somewhere? No, that's probably not what the question asking. It’s kind of obvious that he's in a room given that the other two here too. They probably want something more specific, like where the room is. Does he know where the room is? He frowns slightly as he ponders that. No he doesn't think that he knows where this room is. And... that's… probably not normal? Based on how the question was asked, he should definitely know where this room is. But the more he thinks about it the more he realizes that he doesn't remember where he is. In fact he doesn't seem to remember much of anything at all. The... only thing he can remember with any sort of concrete accuracy if he can even call it that given how hazy the memory is, is a vague conversation with a pair of women, one of whom he knows. He's not entirely sure of that given that he cant remember anything else about her or even her name before everything sharpens and the one that he knows tells him to listen. There's more to the memory than that, he's sure of it, but that's for later because he's found the important part. He does in fact know where he is. Sort of. “A… space station?” He offers hesitantly.

The pair exchange an undecipherable look. "Well, you're not wrong." March says "D'ya know the name of the station?"

He blinks. "No? Should I?"  

"Well, yeah!“ March says "More importantly, do you know your name?" 

Ah. His name. Hm. Yes. Sure he can tell them his name. Because he has one of those. Does he have one of those? He should right? People have names. The silence stretches and he can see the worry growing the longer he doesn't give an answer and finally he sighs. If he has or has ever had a name, its not something that hes currently aware of. "Its... I think..." he sighs "I don't remember it. I don't remember much of anything at all, actually."

"Nothing?" March pouts up at him "C'mon, can't you try a little harder? For me?"

He doesn't bother to try to fight the slight smirk that he can feel forming on his face. "Oh well, if its for you, absolutely." He's joking mostly, but with nothing to lose does in fact give it another shot. Still, nothing new is forthcoming and his smirk falls and he shakes his head. "Sorry, I've got nothing."

"Ah well, no worries!" March says with a cheerful shrug. "If you don’t know who you are, I’m sure we'll be able to find you in the staff directory or guestbook! We just gotta check them!“  

"Medical first." Jade, no Dan Heng, says, though they’re not looking at either of them. "We should have someone from medical take a look at you first."  Their attention is on the hallway and room beyond, hand gripping, is that a staff? No, Dan Heng is holding a spear, though he doesn't remember seeing it a moment ago.

"Ooooh Yeah! Medical first." March agrees cheerfully.

"Regardless, its nice to meet you though the circumstances could be better." The other continues, turning back. "I'm Dan Heng, and that's March 7th. Are you feeling steady on your feet? We should probably get moving."

He nods. "Its nice to meet you too. I…" he pauses to take stock of himself. Nothing feels off outside of his aforementioned soreness. "I feel mostly fine. Where are we going?"

"The master control zone. Everyone else has evacuated there already. Lead Researcher Asta asked us to check for stragglers and people who might be trapped by the Anitmatter Legion."

"Ah." There was a pause as he digested that information fiddling with the lid to the partially empty container in his hands.  "Wait, who's Lead Researcher Asta?"

"Only the super cutest researcher in charge of this space station." March answered, as a crystalline arch started forming between her hands. "Actually, she might know who you are! She knows everyone here."

"Oh. You really think she'll know who I am?"

"Well, I sure hope so, It's kinda hard to be in charge if you don't know your employees after all."

He blinks as he thinks over that. "I work here?"

March stares back at him. "Don't you?"

He exchanges a startled look with Dan Heng who sighs. "March, he doesn't remember anything, how exactly is he supposed to answer that?"

"In that case, I definitely hope Asta knows who you are because if she doesn't then we've got bigger problems."

"I think we have bigger problems already" Dan Heng said as a muffled boom echos from somewhere outside of the room. He pulls a palm sized rectangle out of a pocket, checking it for something. "March, can you escort him there? Arlan's still out of contact, I'm going to go look for him."

"No problem!" March grins, and Dan Heng meets her eyes, nods once and strides off without another word, rounding a corner. A soft hiss echoes through the room and the sound of explosions and fighting grows louder for a couple of moments before the same hissing noise cuts it off again. 

„Geeze, that guy. C'mon Nameless Stranger,“ she says with a slight snicker "Lets give him a minute to clear part of the path then get you to safety."

"Nameless Stranger?" he asks

"Well, I have to call you something" She retorts and he nods. That's fair enough he supposes, as they round the corner into the next room themselves.

"Why is it funny?“ he asks absently as he finally figures out how to reseal the liquid container.

He can hear March's grin. "Because I‘m a Nameless Stranger too!“

That... doesn't make any sense and his head snaps up to stare at the other. Grey eyes meet pink and blue, searching for something. There’s a joke there he thinks, but he can’t figure out what it’s supposed to be. The longer he thinks about it the more confused he gets. "I thought your name was March?“

"Yep!" She responds cheerfully. "March 7th, She/hers!"

"Then… how are you nameless?“

Her smile softens slightly and he’s not entirely sure what to do with the sympathy or the sudden understanding that he finds in her expression. "It’s a joke, that I’ll have to explain later. Or make Dan Heng explain. He’ll do a better job of it.“ She falls silent for a moment. "Really nothing at all?“

He shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable with everything and returns to fidgeting with the container in his hands. The liquid inside shifts as he rotates it, changing the balance and he plays with the shifting weight for a few moments. The silence grows and he can’t stand it. "What are these things?" he asks, gesturing to the various pedestals scattered across the room. Some are shattered or destroyed, their contents strewn across the floor. Just enough of them are intact that he can tell they’re supposed to be displays of some sort. None of them are familiar, but he keeps looking, hoping that one of them may be.

"Madame Herta's collection of Curios." March replies, "No idea why she keeps them all, they're just collecting dust here, but I'm no genius so what do I know?"

"Who's Madame Herta?"

"The woman who owns this station" March says, glancing at something on her wrist. "Ready to go? I think we‘ve given Dan Heng enough time“

"Sure" He responds, his empty hand finding a pocket as they move through the room. Fingers touch a rounded metal corner and he pauses. What is... its the work of a moment to pull the strange rectangle out of his pocket. Its very similar to Dan Heng's device, but that still doesn't mean anything to him.

"Everything ok?" March asks, and he realizes that hes stopped moving.

"Uh, March? What is this?" he asks, holding the thing out to her.

She gasps. "You have a communicator?"

"I... guess? It was in my pocket."

"No no, that's perfect! Turn it on! It probably has some information on it! It might even tell us who you are!"

Well all right then. He glances down at the little rectangle with a newfound curiosity. "How?"

"Just, tap the screen!" She says wandering back over to peer at it with him.

"Like this?" He does as instructed, and to his surprise it works, a small white dot appearing on one side. They wait, and it clears up slightly forming a sharp looking and stylized four legged creature that runs across the screen. A trail of white and purple dots are left behind and eventually they stretch forming a two toned line. The creature clears the screen and moments later the line flares. He looks at the screen in puzzlement as he tries to figure out what exactly this is but once again, nothing. The boxes mean nothing to him at all. But apparently they mean something to March.

"That's the cutest start up I've ever seen. I have got to figure out how to make mine a cute little puppy. Can I?" She asks, pointing at the screen. He nods, holding it out slightly, but to his surprise she doesn't actually take the device. Instead, she pulls his hand down slightly so that she can see better and pokes a small box with a black circle on it. A empty white window pops up and she frowns. "Well, no photos at all, so that doesn’t help, but..." she says, flicking the white window away and poking another little picture. This time she lets out a little cheer "There we go! I found it!“

"Found what?"

"Well, all communicators are registered to individuals. And this one is registered! And that looks just like you, so its gotta be yours right? Its nice to meet you Caelus!"

He blinks and looks down at where March is pointing. Caelus. That... feels right and he doesn't try to stop the smile from forming on his face. "It's nice to meet you too March 7th."

He doesn't know how long they stand there grinning at each other like idiots but a soft hiss has the both of them looking up and Caelus blinks in surprise as a hexagonal panel that he thought was part of the wall slides away revealing a black and wispy figure bedecked in armor and oversized arm blades. March’s expression turns serious and he can see her gaze sharpen. "Caelus, DUCK!" she says suddenly, darting around him, snapping her fingers as a blue shimmer covers her. The sudden change in demeanor is startling and before he's registered exactly whats going on hes on the floor watching as March raises the crystal arch that she’s been holding. Light glimmers connecting the two ends and a glittering pink arrow forms in her hand as she draws the bow back, letting the arrow fly. Something behind him screeches and the next thing knows, March is in front of him offering her hand. "So we may have given Dan Heng too much time. C'mon, we gotta go."

He nods, and takes her hand as she helps him up, but her back is to the open hexagon and he can see what she can’t as the body she just caused dissipates into black mist. Which, he will be thinking about later when he has more time because that does not seem normal to him at all. Not that he knows what normal is at all. A pair of floating orbs of energy with three weird flanges block the passage. One is generating a smaller ball of something and before he can think about it, he moves, using March’s assistance to lunge forwards. He’s not really thinking at all as the container in his hand goes flying, nailing the energy generating orb disrupting whatever it was doing, shattering and spilling liquid everywhere. His hands brush the floor, grabbing something sturdy with a decent weight, and he swings with all his might, hitting the first orb into the second with a solid smack. It falls to the ground after hitting its fellow, the shell shattering as the energy inside starts to dissipate . A shower of pink sparkles takes care of the second orb, apparently evaporating it and he turns to see March lowering her bow.

"Wow!“ she exclaims, glancing at the stick he’s holding. "You’re pretty good with that curio. We‘ll have to ask forgiveness later for using it. I think we‘re gonna have to fight our way out.“ 

He nods silently, trying to catch his breath. Just... what was that? He has no answers but running his hands over the strange stick is rather grounding. It fits comfortably in his hands, almost as if it was made for him. He watches with moderate curiosity as the etchings he can feel light up chasing his fingertips as he traces them. A small tapping noise grabs his attention and he glances over to see March only slightly impatiently giving him a moment. Right. Theyre in danger. "Sorry." He offers, taking another deep breath and standing up straight. "I’m ready now. Lay on MacDuff“

March turns to go, then glances back at him "What?“

He shrugs, no longer in the mood for talking. Hes not entirely sure where that came from or what exactly it meant either.

She grins not at all put off by his sudden silence. "Another mystery, then. Don’t worry Caelus, we‘ll figure it out“

Her promise fills something inside of him. Yes, he promises himself, we will.

[fushitoru]

finish her! a toji fushiguro oneshot

pairing ⸺ wrestler!toji x reader

summary ⸺ you will have to face one of the most formidable wrestlers in history in your next match: toji fushiguro. but don't be confused, this isn't normal wrestling⸺no, it's nude wrestling. and winner gets the spoils of the other's body! (extended ver of my toji drabble here) creds to @/reynisxxsimart on twitter for art!

warnings ⸺ nasty, NASTY smut, VERY public sex, WWE but pornhub edition, you’re a wrestler fighting toji, so some violence but nothing graphic, fem!reader, HUMILIATION, degradation, you're literally fucked in an arena of people, p in v sex, unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex (f! recieving), boobplay, very inaccurate depiction of wrestling/WWE, not edited we die like toji

a/n im going to sit in the corner and think about what i just wrote

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

the muffled sounds of the crowd’s deafening roar seem to swirl in the space around you, each cheer vibrating through your chest like distant thunder. you take a long, cool sip of water, a welcome contrast to the warm air backstage. lounging back, you let the chair support your weight, your muscles still humming with the residual tension of anticipation. utahime’s fingers work into your shoulders, and her voice filters through the buzzing atmosphere, calm and steady as she gives you a rundown of the night ahead, though her words seem to blur slightly at the edges—just background noise to the constant hum of adrenaline.

“in front of a crowd—do you understand? and the rules are no fucking, unless all clothes are off first.”

“right,” you affirm, albeit hesitantly. you’re feeling a bit jitterish in anticipation of what’s to happen, despite having trained months to hone your ability as a wrestler. look, wwe itself can get really suggestive at times, with people giving wedgies, removing certain articles of clothing, or even letting the crowd cop a feel of the defeated to serve as humiliation. not only does it improve publicity, but it also increases viewership of all the horny bastards on the internet to circle the televised clip around in their subreddits or discord servers.

but what you were going to do today—that was a bit…extreme. it was like bridging the gap between soft core and hard core, with the humiliation turned up to a hundred. because today, you were going to wrestle the man that all female–and male–wrestlers could even dream of having their hands on, even if for a slight moment.

toji fushiguro.

a man of impressive build—entering a ring with him only meant defeat. he’s had numerous career wins, far exceeding any other. hell, you shouldn’t even be matched to wrestle with him today; he outweighs and outranks you by far. the only thing you really have running for you is the sheer amount of fans you have, ready to tune in to your fights and edit your moves and time spent in the fighting ring to songs like “chun li” and “maneater.” so, sure, you don’t exactly anticipate a win today in that stadium that’s waiting for you, but you’re no less of a wrestler in your own right. you won’t go down without a fight.

however, today was no normal fight. the wwe had suddenly decided that their viewership was too low, that extreme measures needed to be taken to boost. so, ironically enough they had decided to change the rules just before your momentous match:

all wrestlers must consent to having all and any articles of clothing removed from their person, particularly for sexual intercourse as a reward for the winner.

so, WWE (Pornhub’s Version) (In The Vault). 

and your luck dictated that this paradigm shift for the organization occur just before your most anticipated match with toji. again, you knew that no amount of training could prevent you from getting utterly humiliated, but it was almost like the gods were laughing down on you, eager to rub in your impending defeat once more. because you were going to get your shit fucked up—-literally.

“it’s going to be fine,” utahime assures you, and you snap back to the present from your thoughts at the sound of her voice. “just think about the publicity this’ll get you! not that you don’t have any fans of yourself, but there are going to be a lot of people tuned in because of fushiguro.”

you take an inhale in and nod. “yea, that’s true. i just want to get it over with.”

as if answering your prayers, gojo satoru, the mc, burst into your dressing room. “it’s your time to shine, buttercup!” he grins, ushering you out the door. albeit a bit nervously, you stand up and make your way into the hallway that leads directly into the middle of the arena. “you’re going to do great!”

as soon as you walk closer and closer to the arena, the screams get louder and louder, the music booming and causing the floor under you to vibrate. the sounds of people surround all your senses, wrapping you up and causing your heartbeat to go faster and faster. 

reaching the end of the hallway, the arena is filled with light, and you have to blink to get a hold of your sight. surrounding the center boxing ring are stands upon stands of people, hustling and bustling. at the sight of you, cameramen stationed around in various spots through the arena furiously angle their cameras towards you. not only are journalists and the media snapping pictures, blinding you with the flash, but you see yourself displayed on the big screens visible to everyone in the arena. you smile and wave, causing your fans to scream as they register that you have walked in. 

then, a realization washes over you. these are the same screens that are going to be projected whatever's going to happen during the fight and when you lose.

oh god.

you walk forward, trying to keep up your smile and wave to all of your fans that outstretched their hands, trying to cop a feel and/or get a high five. most of your fans are male (to no one's surprise), and you can feel their eyes roving over you appreciatively, taking in your outfit. it was simple and tight; shorts that just barely covered your ass and was snug around your hips, and a low cut top that couldn't even be called a top. your cleavage was on full display, and the top stopped just below your waist. typically, this is your wrestling attire you wear to a normal match, but you couldn't help but wryly notice that today, your neckline was cut lower than usual. the wwe was really trying to milk this, huh?

you stood just below the boxing ring, eyes anxiously scanning the arena, unconsciously searching for the man you were set to fight. but no matter how hard you looked, you couldn't spot his tall, muscular figure either in the ring or in the seat he was supposed to occupy with his manager.

a light tap on your shoulder startled you, and you turned to find utahime behind you, a concerned look on her face. "everything alright?"

"yeah," you said, waving her off with a forced smile. "but where is he?"

utahime pointed toward the boxing ring, and then you saw it—a glimpse of black hair.

"alright," you said, swallowing nervously. "i'm heading into the ring. wish me luck."

"wait!" utahime called out, but you were already too far to hear her. gripping the ropes at the edge of the ring, you hauled yourself up and strode toward the center, determined to get a better view. and there, just on the far side of the ring, hidden from your previous angle, was toji fushiguro.

he was lounging back, relaxed, his posture almost lazy as he faced his manager, shiu kong. you couldn’t see toji's face from this angle, but his body language indicated that he was the epitome of ease. shiu was saying something to him, and from your best attempt at lip reading, you could just make out the words, "don't break the rules today."

toji, on the other hand, didn't seem to be looking at him (giving 0 fucks, something so classically toji), focusing now towards the big screens everyone else saw in the arena. you turned your gaze towards them as well, only to be taken aback when it was you, a compilation of your best moments in the ring, narrated by gojo.

“and today, fellas, we’re going to see the bombshell y/n—the maneater, as coined by her fans—-competing! while her opponent is fushiguro, don’t be fooled—she can pack a mean punch. look at this fight with mei mei; she sweeped the floor with her face!” 

satisfied, you looked around, the arena bustling with people getting drinks, being enraptured with your fight on the screen, or pointing at you or toji. toji, on the other hand, was chuckling and shaking his head at your fight, observing as you gave the bitch mei mei a wedgie. which kind of made you flustered, because you had developed a crush on the guy observing him from afar or in passing, so you just focused on shaking out your legs and arms in nervousness.

gojo similarly announced toji’s fights and compilation, gassing him up for the crowd and it was then that toji finally turned around, uninterested in whatever was going on, and caught your eye. you stared back, breath held involuntarily. 

his eyes had a predatory glint to them, and he smiled, charmingly in a way that showed off his scar, and they scanned up and down your figure, taking in what you were wearing—or rather, letting his imagination run. nervously, your heart sped up as you clenched your thighs up in anticipation or anxiety, you couldn’t choose which, as your mind began running at the speed of light thinking about what was going to happen today.

today, you weren’t only going to wrestle toji fushiguro. you were going to fuck him.

but you’re jolted out of your thoughts as gojo’s obnoxious voice blares through the speakers. “give it up for thee wwe goat, toji fushiguro!”

screams reach an all time high as his smirk is broadcasted to the audience, biceps bulging and flexing as he heaves his way up on the ring, joining you. he waves lazily, roars at an all time high as he stalks his way to you, and you squeeze your nails into your palm out of nervousness.

when gojo announces your name, the male screams rise up in volume, causing you to giggle and fushiguro to roll his eyes from what you can see in the corner of your eye. you give a dainty wave, choosing to wink and blow a kiss to the camera in front of you, causing your fans to scream even louder.

“you sure got a lotta fanboys, darling.” you jump as toji has now bent down to whisper in your ear, literally sending shivers down your spine.

you force out a laugh. “and you're at no shortage of fangirls yourself, fushiguro.”

he gives you a nonchalant hum, assuming his original position. as gojo continued to yap about the stakes of the round today, the recent rule change, a referee walked over to you both, coming in closer so that you would be able to hear him over the chaos of the arena.

“so, you’re both aware of the rules, right?” he both looked at you, to which you nodded and toji’s smirk widens. “you gotta get the other’s clothes completely off, and the first one to do that wins.”

you gulp, eyeing what toji was wearing today. it was his signature garb, the one he wore to almost every match without fail: grey pants with various sponsorships sewed on, and a black compression shirt. it was definitely very minimal compared to what a lot of the other wrestlers wore, but it was iconic, giving him a lazy, laid back aura that no other wrestler could truly emanate.

it wasn’t anything hard to take off in particular.

both of you affirmed your consent to the referee, who then took a step back after wishing you both good luck.  you turned, facing toji face on, who had his hand on his hip. “try to last long, okay?” he smirks, patting your shoulder with his other hand. “i’ll try to drag this out as much as i can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

you glare, but there isn’t much intensity to it because you know he’s much stronger than you. there isn’t much to get angry about. “yea, yea,” you huff. “for all i know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

he barks out a laugh and looks at the referee, who has one hand raised, the other one poised on his whistle, ready to blow and start the round. it’s starting soon. then, he looks back to you and smiles. “let the games begin.”

the referee blows the whistle.

at once, you launch yourself towards toji, trying to jump on him to get him off his feet with your weight. instead, he dodges easily and leaves you hurtling towards the floor, making you poise yourself on your hands and feet upon impact. you roll over just as toji tries to tackle you and pin you against your original position on the floor and quickly get up.

however, as you’re steadying yourself on your feet, toji grabs your ankle, causing you to lose your balance and giving him the advantage to pin himself on top of you, his mouth breathing heavily next to your ear, whispering so it was just the two of you that could hear his words. “what do you think i should take off first?” he laughs deeply, the vibration causing you to shiver and try to squirm to get out of his hold, to no avail. “should it be these?” he snakes his hands down to grope your tits, giving them a firm squeeze, much to the arena’s pleasure. “or should i take these off of you?” he slaps your ass, making you blush furiously.

“fuck you,” you hiss as his hands catch on the edge of your shorts.

he gives you a sweet, small kiss on your temple. “don’t worry, baby,” he smiles. “you’ll be doing that anyways.” and with that, he pulls at your shorts until the waistband’s elastic rips, leaving your shorts in tatters until he throws the remains of it away, baring your panty-covered ass to the crowd, which immediately grows wild.

you crane your neck to look at the screen, which is currently focused on toji’s hands feeling up your ass, dipping inside your underwear to knead the flesh. your heart is pounding, the thought i need to get the upper hand flashing continuously across your mind. it’s almost as if you’re drowning, the noises of the crowd blurring together until it was only you and toji’s weight on you. you barely heard the announcer exclaim, “toji is currently in the lead!” as you focused on calculating your next move.

it was time to pull out all the stops. 

turning your head until you were making eye contact with him, you bit your lip, momentarily distracted him with the 180 turn of your actions, now nonchalant rather than the flailing you were doing earlier. then, you raised your hips, meeting your backside with his crotch in an effort to catch him off guard and to make him lose balance. then, you maneuvered yourself so your thighs surround toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. this momentarily distracted and weakened toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. you quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. the whole stadium, in fact, can see his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

smirking while peering down at him, you slowly grind your hips as if you were riding a mechanical bull, making a show of spinning around his shirt with your hand to mock him. toji’s eyes darken, but a mirthless smile flashes across his face anyways. “damn, take me out to dinner first.”

you flash him one of your own humorless smirks, happy that you got at least one thing against him. “i don’t fuck anyone before the first day, honey. this is just another cheap fuck.” with that, you yank his head back with his hair roughly, making a show of motorboating his pecs, as if to mock him.

instead of getting angry, he chuckles darkly. “you’re going to regret that. i was going to drag this out, princess, but i gotta fuck the brat out of you.” with that, he spins you around just as quickly—if not quicker—pinning you against the ground with your hands held above your head in one hand in a vice grip, the other groping its way down your body. he buries his face in your neck, salaciously licking the length of it. with his free hand—now stationed around your tits—he grabs at the hem of your top, pulling it up so everyone could see your lace bra. mockingly, he plants his face in the middle of your tits, moving his head side by side to motorboat you just as you had done to him, the soft plush of your tits encompassing his face.

the crowd cheers, even more so than they had when you had ripped his shirt off, as toji completely rips the top off as you squirm, making the removal even easier for him. you can feel all eyes on you as toji reaches for the clip of your bra, unhooking it and making your tits pop out. helplessly, you look at the screen, your writhing making them move in a jiggling motion, sweat shining and giving you the “oiled-up” look. he takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “what a sensitive girl,” he coos. “too bad she was too weak. now she’s going to have to take my cock.”

with that, he teasingly closes the distance between the waistband of your panties and his teeth, mouth snagging on the elastic. slowly, he drags them down, unveiling your glistening pussy for all eyes to see, and the crowd goes wild, chanting random requests at toji to do the most heinous things to you. as soon as you’re completely naked, he grabs you by the waist, propping you up against one of the corner posts. you’re now standing up, tearfully facing the arena as the wrestler kneels behind you, burying his face and nosing his way until your pussy, lapping up your wetness.

at the unexpected feeling of his tongue, you yelp, and toji slaps your ass. “stay still.” acquiescing, he licks up long stripes and shakes his head to grind his nose into your cunt, pleasuring you while humiliating you in front of everyone, forcing you to succumb to the pleasure he’s making you feel. while licking you, he groans. “fuck, this pussy is so sweet. i’ve run out of patience, fuck the performance part.”

with that, toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees on the floor and pulls down his pants. you don’t even look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs. 

he drags his cock teasingly through your folds, and then brings it out to slap it against your ass, humming appreciatively at the recoil. then, as if he’s lost patience, he’s slowly entering you, pushing against your pussy’s resistance as he penetrates you in front of the whole arena. “fuck!” he groans, getting a better grip on you as he pushes your head down on the mat and fully goes to pound town.  

the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “the fuck this pussy’s so tight for? thought you were a slut?”

you’re tearing up, the feeling of his dick hitting your g-spot straight on making you clench hard, overwhelmed by the feeling of him pummeling you and his hands on your body, feeling you up. clearly, he knew how to pleasure a woman, and it made you all the more annoyed. you were fucked out, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “you’re not turning me on, small dick.”

he did not like that very much.

toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? why is she dripping, you whore?” as if to demonstrate his point, he brings his fingers to rub at your clit furiously, collecting the wetness that had dripped down from your hole then shoving his fingers into your mouth. “suck.” when you did just that, suckling at his fingers while hollowing your hot, wet heat around the appendages. 

at that, he groaned. “what a little cockwhore. shoulda made you suck my dick instead.”

in retaliation, you bite his fingers, hard, and then spit them out. “i would’ve bit your micro off.”

toji hisses, grabbing the hair at your scalp and pulling on it until your face was up, his mouth at your ear. “just for that, i’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.” he speeds up, moving his hips faster and fast. the hand that wasn’t at your hair is now sneaking his way down your back, until you gasp.

because he’s inserted his thumb inside your ass.

“oh, ho ho,” he laughs mockingly. “you liked that, didn’t you?” you offer him no response, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of the sheer amount of pressure you were feeling down there, being doubly stuffed. by now, your orgasm has been steadily building because of the sheer power of toji’s stroke game, but as soon as he hits your spot one last time, your eyes roll back, causing you to arch your back and writhe due to the intensity of your orgasm.

you’re breathing heavily, toji fucking you roughly through it. once you’ve gotten a hold of your sense, you come back to reality as you realize that the crowd has adopted a rhythm to their chants, your fans and his screaming the same thing.

cum! cum! cum!

and toji only chortles as he continues your thirst, looking at you once again, and you can tell that he’s staving his orgasm back just after experiencing your clenches with the way he’s biting his lips, sweat running down from his temple to his abs. “what do you say, baby? wanna give the crowd what they’re asking for?” 

all it takes is a whimpered please, and toji just does what the crowd asks of him. ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear toji declared as winner. 

as you exhaustedly lift your head up, you see that cameras are out all around you, focused on the screen. you’re flustered when you realize the billboard is displaying toji’s cum seeping out of you.

A hand on your shoulder. “you good?” toji’s looking at you, eyes twinkling.

you let out a breath. “yea,” you laugh, out of breath. “good round.”

and he’s huffing, giving you a hand to get on your back. you can only lie on the ground as he barks for clothes to be put on you and for some water. then he turns to look at you once more, eyes twinkling. “wanna go for more in my hotel?”

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n i was going to have him carry u up near to the stands where your fans could grab at ur titties but this is alr depraved as it is. now im going to take a breather from tumblr for the rest of this week becasue WHEW ch5 gojo yesterday and finished this today i am ON A ROLL. see you guys for next week's kinktober fic (comment if you want to be tagged)! much love<3

reblog and comments are much appreciated!!!!!

taglist:

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk

[queers-gambit]

Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

Marvel masterlist

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

[stickandthorn]

I like that Brennan, a very thoughtful individual when it comes to talking about and depicting religion and faith in a manner of different ways, jumps at any opportunity to embrace the righteous fury of a preacher trying cleanse sin out of the masses of his flock whenever he can. Give him the slightest chance and he drags those Irish Catholic roots back from hell to play a vampire hunter talking about The Lord Our God or do a bit about Saint Patrick on an improv show. You gotta be warned when you come within 20 ft of the Dropout studio that this man WILL pull out the blue eye stare and yell “dance is sin” and tackle your legs if the occasion arises.

[changbunnies]

Crave (18+)

♡ Pairing: Romantic Lust Demon!Hyunjin x Plus Size Human Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: supernatural au, demon au, demon/human relationship, age gap relationship typical in fics of this genre, despite the immoral demonic behavior this is intended to be a lot more soft and romantic than the warnings will make it sound lmao

♡ Word Count: 21.9k

♡ Summary: "The more a thing is perfect, the more it feels pleasure and pain." – Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy. In which Hyunjin, a demon from the nine circles of hell, finds himself impossibly infatuated with the very human he once set upon himself to destroy.

♡ Warnings: discussions about religion from the perspective of a demon, themes of sexual purity in the context of religion, a lot of immoral behavior and thoughts + ideas from hyunjin (such as snooping, infiltration, and manipulation), references to death / dying, use of supernatural abilities, themes of possesiveness and jealousy, the seven deadly sins are brought up multiple times, hyun is thousands of years old so take that as you will lol, reader's age is not specified but is implied to be at least mid to late 20s, hell's structure is based off dante alighieri's depiction of it in the divine comedy but knowledge of it isn't necessary to enjoy this fic!

♡ Smut Warnings: multiple smut scenes + references to sex outside of smut scenes, masturbation, noncon voyeurism, porn watching, sex with hyun in both his human and demon form, wine drinking (but neither reader or hyunjin gets drunk), pet names (my love, lovely, baby, gendered language such as "good girl"), dom/sub dynamics with switch implications, pleasure dom hyunjin, kink exploration and establishing limits + safe words, traffic light system - reader uses "yellow" once, lots of kissing (per my standard), some nipple play, oral (m + f receiving), fingering (f receiving), biting / marking, choking, dacryphilia, slight overstim, multiple orgasms, improper use of a tail :) take that as you will :), size kink, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: this is a reupload + edit of an old fic so if you start to read and get deja vu, that's why lol originally, this was a series posted in several parts but for cohesion i'm reuploading it all together in one post! i also fixed up various parts i felt i could've written better, so it should be a better reading experience this time! and if this is ur first time seeing this story, i hope you enjoy it! <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

There are many things in this world, the world of humans, that even a monster such as Hyunjin was born to desire. A primal want, weaved into the very fabric of his being, designed to be etched into his soul– if he had one, that is.

That is what initially brought him here; the heart of one of the world's most populated cities, his territory an otherwise unoccupied luxury suite in one of the many skyrises that line the bustling streets.

It was an ideal place to be; there wasn't much in the way of furniture, given that it's a new development with no human occupants, but the amenities it held were sleek and pristine. High windows that overlooked the entirety of the city rife with sin from what was nearly the top floor, marble countertops that screamed sophistication and elegance, and well equipped with security of both the physical and digital kind to keep out those who may want to chase the thrill of wandering where they do not belong.

Hyunjin, who could simply float about wherever he wished, had no need for human things like beds or sofas. The fact that it lied barren and empty was no deterrent– in fact, it was better that way.

In this space, he already had everything he needed– an ideal vantage point, isolation from the world until he himself chose to interact with it, and easy access to the myriad of damned soul that walked the streets beneath him. It was perfect, and it was his– until you showed up.

Hyunjin was no stranger to dealing with potential renters overtaking his territory– it was only natural for those with wealth to be ready to spend a fortune on the newest availble luxury apartment that catches their eye.

While Hyunjin had never once been seen; he was certainly known; rumors abound of an evil presence in suite 13, that left even non-believers fleeing in terror, leaving as quickly as they came. "Evil" felt a bit extreme of a description from Hyunjin's perspective, but what would humans truly understand of him? 

He always felt as if his actions were completely justified; after all, why should a being with immense power such as him bend to the will of a measely human whose life was akin to a grain of sand in the desert of immortality that was his own lifespan?

Regardless of his justifications and thoughts on what is evil and what isn't, he welcomed the fear humans have towards him– it made his life easier if they feared him and stayed far from his domain. 

And yet here you were, seemingly ignorant of the fearful reputation this apartment held (not that he expected that the building's landlord would have informed you of it, of course– their only goal is money, at the end of the day.)

Hyunjin didn't care for the rules of humans– whether or not you'd supplied the necessary money to purchase your way here or were deserving of it made no difference to him. It was his until he decided otherwise, and you were trespassing on his territory by being here.

When he'd first arrived back after a long outing back in his home within the second circle of the nine hells, only to see you filling his space with your things, walking about the apartment as if you owned it, blissfully unaware of his presence– it was infuriating. 

He had half a mind to scare you out right then, forever scar you by showing you his true form, send you running as he'd done to countless before you who tried to be here. But no, that wouldn't be enough. It would be letting you off too easily for his liking; this was different than scaring off someone who might intrude on his home– you already had.

What he wanted was more than his territory back– he wanted to make you suffer the most egregious torment one could ever endure for intruding on it, something far worse and much harsher than whatever a demon below his stature could muster.

You deserved worse than that of mild terror, or to be able to flee from his space without repercussions for your transgression. No, he would only take back what was his after he'd turned your mind into a den of paranoia and hysteria. You needed to know true terror, true loss, true suffering, by his hand.

So he settled for observing you– it would be a longer process, one that could easily take months to reach true fruition, but the reward would be well worth his patience. He watched carefully, intently, his presence always concealed but unmistakably there. You would feel it sometimes, unbeknownst to yourself.

A sudden chill up your spine, the subtle feeling of being watched making you turn your head, only to be met with nothing unusual in your line of sight. Funny, how humans were so attuned to the supernatural while simultaneously being so oblivious to their reality.

Your routines became committed to his memory, your every step and every action becoming increasingly familiar to him. Boring at times, but necessary if he wanted to learn the ins and outs of what makes you you, taking in every detail and memorizing them fully, so that when the day comes for him to turn your life into a miserable tragedy, forming you into a shell of who you once were, you'd have to beg him for forgiveness, for his mercy.

What were your fears? He'd easily make them reality. What did you hate? He'd make sure you suffered it. What broke your heart? He'd subject you to that pain over and over, until your heart was left shattered into a million, microscopic pieces.

And it was only then, when you were mentally destroyed, the lowest you could ever possibly be and unrecognizable in your despair, that he'd appear before you, triumphant as he made you apologize for ever having stepped foot in his domain.

But as he observed you, he came to realize something strange- something he had never once found himself thinking about a human before. You were so... good, the closest to perfection a human could ever possibly be. And not perfect by the bullshit puritan standards set by the "heavenly creator," because you were as touched by sin as any human is, but perfect to him specifically.

Your sins were few and far between, with only one making a substantial impact on your purity; but it was the most important, most delicious sin of them all, the one that made Hyunjin's body seethe with delectable desire.

You weren't envious, nor greedy or gluttonous; you lived in a luxurious penthouse suite, that was true, but greed to have the best of everything isn't what brought you here. The pride you felt for your accomplishments didn't go anywhere near sinful levels– you were proud of yourself, but not in such a way that you looked down on others while you sat atop your high horse.

You weren't slothful, brought to your current position by your own hard work and tireless efforts, and you weren't wrathful either, your emotions toward your fellow man always sweet, compassionate, and gracious. That only left one sin– just one that impacted your soul, that barred you from reaching true, godly purity.

Lust.

It wasn't an unhealthy amount of lust by any means, but any at all is enough to damn an unmarried woman's soul if she gives in to the temptation– an unfair ruling that has cost many their rightful place in paradise. And you certainly did give in to your temptation, and that is what made you perfect to him.

You had none of the avarice of other humans, none of the undesirable qualities that made them foolish and arrogant and insufferable to deal with, instead held closely by one desire, the most important desire.

Was it a coincidence, he wondered? That he, a demon born of lust himself, found one such human that seemed to adhere perfectly to what he enjoys most?

Hyunjin often felt himself above that of the sins his brothers were born to pursue. Violence did not suit him, emotions such as greed, pride, and jealousy often went beyond his comprehension. And not because he was some lowly, ignorant creature who was only capable of thinking with his dick, but because those feelings simply never came to him to begin with.

What was there to be jealous of? If he wanted something, he could have it, he could take it, as simple as that. Was he prideful? Sure, one could say he was, say that he has an ego, but he would argue that there was a clear difference between the arrogance that often comes with pride, and simply having confidence in one's own abilities and joy in their accomplishments.

He knew he could feel other emotions, indulge in other sins, if his brothers' conquests and actions were any tell, but he simply.. didn't. Lust was all he knew, was all that he enjoyed, but at the same time, he wasn't some low level demon who was consumed by lust.

No, he could control it quite easily if he wished, was more than capable of waiting for the most ideal moment to finally savor in the addictive dance two bodies can share. (Or more than two bodies, should one prefer that.)

Lust was all he ever knew, but unlike the sex-starved beasts he ruled over and observed in his circle within hell, he was very much in control of himself. Make no mistake, it never went away, he always felt the gnawing craving for more and more and more– but it never addled his mind. That was the perk of being a demon with a higher consciousness than that of say.. an imp. He had complete control of his compulsions and desires. 

It was this control over himself that led to Hyunjin savoring the lust that poured from human souls in only the most ideal conditions. There were many different kinds of lust, each with their own "taste" so to speak, and while Hyunjin found them all enjoyable to at least some degree, there was one in particular that was the most intoxicating to him, one that never failed to light a fire within him, the one that was always, always, worth waiting for.

The lust between two lovers, whose care for eachother was true, and good, and special– such as you would see from couples sleeping together for the first time, full to the brim with nervous excitement. Or maybe from long-time lovers reigniting their spark with a romantic night spent together after a warm, candlelit date.

Especially delectable was the sweet consummation after making an eternal promise under God to be together forever, in sickness and in health, 'til death do you part. Those are just a few examples of the sort of lust that gave Hyunjin the best, sweetest taste.

The irony of being an immoral entity who gained the most enjoyment out of love and romance wasn't lost on him, but his preferences weren't built on some misconceived notion that he could aspire to feel those things himself. Yes, Hyunjin knew he would never feel the human emotion that was love, but he could understand, at least on a superficial level, why it tasted so sweet, and why humans seemed to fight for that feeling above all else.

Perhaps he existed to be a hypocrite, sowing seeds of chaos and turmoil while valuing true love, contradicting that which humans believed they knew about demons of lust such as himself. After all, was it not the very nature of a demon to confuse, contradict, and twist the human condition?

And was it not utterly against his being to indulge in a feeling that was considered sacred by God? It didn't matter either way; if there was one thing that Hyunjin knew for certain, it was that sweet tastes were the best, and it didn't matter where it originated from or how– he just knew he liked it.

And oh, how his proverbial heart jolted when he sensed it on you the first time he saw you touching yourself. It was a surprise when, after a long day of unpacking and arranging furniture, you let your hand travel sinfully between your legs with a heady sigh– and far be it from Hyunjin to deny himself the opportunity to feed on a human's lust when it's practically being delivered to him on a silver platter.

You hadn't been touching yourself for long, barely got your panties down your legs when he tasted it– subtle, but familiar enough to Hyunjin that he could recognize it anywhere. It was hard to explain the sweet taste in human terms– there were really no words that could come close to describing it, as the "flavor" itself didn't exist within human understanding.

Suffice it to say, it was something entirely unique to his kind, and something any demon would be able to distinguish with ease should they be in close enough proximity. It was unmistakable– you loved someone. That was information that could serve him well, something that he should be delighted to know he could ruin you with. And yet, for the first time in all his thousands of years, the feeling of lustful love left a bitter taste on his tongue.

You were in love.. And you envisioned that person while your fingers were buried between your legs, as you bit your lip and made your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

Who was it? Why did you love them? Were they even deserving of someone as perfect as you? Did they deserve to touch you? To feel you? Hyunjin grit his teeth, fists clenching into tight balls as an unfamiliar feeling began to permeate through the entirety of his being.

Is this.. what envy feels like? A rage beyond comprehension at the thought of someone else having you when it should be him?

He should be the one you desired to have touching you, the one you imagined marking your unmarred skin, the one who made you cry out and tremble with even the simplest of touches. Would they even indulge in the sweet taste you radiate like he would? Would they even understand what perfection it is you offer simply by being? 

His, you should be his, only his, his, his.

The realization hit Hyunjin like cold water over hot skin– he wants you. And not just for one night, not superficially, not with needing to part ways afterwards. He wants you to love him, wants the feeling of love-drenched lust that radiates off you to be because of him, wants you to belong to him and him alone.

You don't know him yet, but you will. And he'll make sure you're left wanting him, and only him, by any means necessary. Because it's what he wants, and he always gets what he wants.

Hyunjin wants to say it's simple curiosity that leads him to carefully steal your phone off your nightstand once you've fallen asleep, or that he's acting with the desire to know how to ruin the target of his ire more succinctly, but that simply isn't true.

No, he is scrounging through your phone not with the intent to learn your greatest fears and hates, nor does he scour your messages to discover your darkest secrets. It's a different purpose that has led him here, an unfamiliar ache that drives him to search your phone for something more.

In hindsight, going through your phone to learn about you is a simple, easy act he could've, should've, done already, but he's a bit of a traditionalist in that regard. (Or maybe he just doesn't want to admit how much he's liked watching you these past few weeks.)

Who is that you love? And why? It would've been easier for him to find out had you truly let yourself go, allowed yourself to be loud and moan their name to your heart's content, but you hadn't. And maybe that was a good thing, as hearing someone else's name leave your lips in such a moment would've definitely sent him into a dangerous hate spiral, but that also meant he was left with nothing to go on as a clue.

He was much too stunned, and then seething with anger and jealousy, to read your thoughts in the moment, and if he tried to do so now, while you were sleeping, all he would do is catch a glimpse of your dreams– not helpful in the slightest, unless you happen to be dreaming of the object of your desire. (Which you weren't. He already looked.)

Unlocking your phone is easy, as he's seen you put in your password several times over at this point. Unfortunately for him however, (and fortunate for the one undeserving of Hyunjin's wrath,) he finds nothing that makes the object of your affection explicitly obvious. Your texts with friends all use the same tone, you talk about mundane things like what movies are coming out or how you wish you could go on a vacation for a while.

Your photo gallery is relatively small, filled mostly by screenshots of things you wish to remember or keep for a laugh, and the occasional selfie. There's nothing that screams "this is the person i'm in love with!" no matter where in your phone he looks, and if it wasn't for how intensely he felt the emotion radiating from you as your fingers sped up and release built, he'd think he must have imagined it.

What interesting this he does find, however, are the differen't porn links littered through your incognito tabs, all that paint a very vivid picture of what you find most appealing– or in more vulgar terms, what gets your pussy really fucking wet.

He skims through your collection of favorites and private bookmarks, and quickly comes to realize they all hold a similar theme– love, romance, and doms who are soft even when being rough with the sub's body, or speaking condescending words.

Various videos and audio files, with titles such as "roommate gets railed after confessing her secret feelings," "pov: boy next door accidentally confesses and then fucks you passionately," and "soft dom makes his good girl cum hard: boyfriend asmr." There's even an entire erotic movie, much to Hyunjin's surprise, with a 2 hour run time and dedicated plot in your recent bookmarks.

He decides to watch it, for research purposes of course– what better way to get to know the object of his desire than by watching the porn she consumes for himself? It's rather generic as far as ideas go– childhood best friends confessing their love before going away to college, with sweet, sensual but desperate fucking and a promise they'll be in love no matter the distance put between them. A cliché plot, by human media standards. 

However, he has to give it due props– it's obviously not an amateur production. It's acted well, has better cinematography than one might expect for a film produced by a porn studio, and the dialogue never crosses into cringe, overtly fake territory.

Despite it all, something about it feels real, as if he'd taken a genuine glimpse into the lives of two young people in love, rather than a manufactured video meant to make the people who watch it unbearably horny.

Hyunjin continued through your collection after that, eager to see what other gems lied in your favorites, waiting to be watched by him. They're all the same fundamentally speaking, your preferences and biases easily shining through with each video watched and audio listened to.

Emotionally charged, romantic confessions, sweet "i love you"s, soft, caring doms who take good care of the submissive one, making them feel desired, beautiful, and secure. The person you're in love with, the one who lingers in your mind when you watch these videos and your hand travels between your legs– this is what you want them to do.

You want them to love you passionately, to make you fall apart in the sweetest of ways, to take care of you so well that your thoughts can linger on nothing but the way they make you feel. You want them to sweetly tell you they love you while they fuck you, to speak filthy words in your ears in a soft, saccharine voice as they make you cum. To fuck you dumb, to ruin you, and then expertly put you back together with a tender touch. 

Carefully, he puts your phone back in its place, looking at you once he's done, still sound asleep in your bed and without a clue in the world that there's a demon standing before you, close enough to touch. You've lived with Hyunjin for weeks now, but you don't know who he is, don't know that he's there, don't know that you have unexpectedly become the reason for a demon's strange and new complex emotions. Isn't it funny? How a demon as powerful as him has become infatuated with you despite you not even knowing he exists.

It's illogical to desire you, truly. Humans are fickle, subject to corruption and irrationality, their lives impossibly short. What one man works his entire life to obtain, Hyunjin can have in mere moments with a fraction of the effort.

To a being that has lived thousands of years, the life of a human happens in a mere blink. You grow old, you get sick, you die, your accomplishments fade to nothing, forgotten as the next wave of humans walk the earth in your stead. You're beneath him, he's better than you, and yet..

Why does he still crave you so? Maybe he's no better than the humans he's looked down upon, considering them lesser for their innate hypocrisies and irrational actions– because Hyunjin is about to do just the same.

His feelings for you are hypocritical, irrational, foolish, but also the most real thing he's ever felt. And if it's romance you want, that will make you fall head over heels for him, then he'll be the most romantic demon the nine hells have ever known.

How do you make a human fall in love? A question that is perhaps simple in theory, but Hyunjin hasn't wooed a human in centuries, and much has changed since he last blended in with society.

In the modern age of technology, sin is at the most rampant it's ever been. The common man can access all manner of sin from the palm of his hand with a single device, and it has made the act of integrating into human society an unnecessary practice for demons. 

There's a plethora of human sin to feed from at any given moment, and obsolete is the need for a demon to blend in with the humans that walk the earth, no longer required to be a snake in the community garden just waiting for their moment to strike and consume.

Though an outdated method to obtain their wants, integration with humans can still be done, if only the demon in question wishes to do so– and as Hyunjin has come to realize, he does if he wants to win over the object of his desire. 

Despite how long it's been since Hyunjin walked among them, he wasn't ignorant of modern human culture; he still had to be well-informed if he wanted to be effective and efficient in sowing the seeds of sin in feeble minds, after all– his work in the second circle required such knowledge, and it was also a benefit when it came to deciding which soul he would drink from to sustain himself. 

He knew perfectly well how to use most modern technology, knew how to dress in a manner that was unique to his own tastes but suited the trends of the era. Whatever "pop culture" knowledge he lacked, as it was called by humans, he could blame it on things such as "preferring to stay off social media," or "not watching much tv or playing much games." Most would take it as a fair, reasonable enough excuse, even if the person asking questions of him could not relate to his answer. 

In the last century especially, most of Hyunjin's public outings were limited to a few hours at most, spending that entire time scoping out who'd satiate his cravings the most. Nightclubs in particular were an easy place for Hyunjin to get a quick fix of the lust he needed, sustaining him well enough when his preferred love-drenched lust was still being built to its peak. 

Despite all his experience in human matters, there was something that posed a problem for him initially. Since moving into your lavish suite, you worked from home– a luxury Hyunjin assumes you have from a high ranking position within whatever company you work for (especially if this is the kind of place you can afford to live in on a single salary.)

But if you only ever left the house long enough to run errands, how was he supposed to meet you organically? And further still, how does he meet you in such a way that makes contact with you consistent, that makes you want to talk with him and be in his presence? 

He could, theoretically, stage a meeting, pretend to be a neighbor entering the building at the same time or "accidentally" bump into you while shopping for something he has absolutely no use for, only to then charm you the moment your eyes lock with his.

The problem with that approach is that charming you defeats the purpose of what he wants; for you to have genuine, real love for him, and only him. And asking you out after meeting you just once, in a situation where you have no reason to connect with him further, could be uncomfortable or off-putting in the eyes of women. What woman likes to be hit on by a stranger while she's grocery shopping? 

Hyunjin's human form is attractive, sure, but looks can only carry him so far when it comes to making a woman fall for him. His appearance is useful for one night stands, but he needs to show you more substance than that if he wants you to desire him beyond the physical– and he was sure based on his observations of your character that you weren't vain or superficial enough to fall for him based on looks alone. 

Thankfully, he didn't have to ponder on these questions for much longer, because only a few short days after you finished all your unpacking and decorated your apartment to your liking, you returned to work.

He could tell easily enough what your destination was when your routine suddenly deviated; for the first time since moving in, you had turned on a repeating alarm for 6 a.m, and your choice of business casual clothing and subtle, office appropriate makeup told him all he needed to know. 

Hyunjin followed you there, naturally; presence hidden, lingering in the shadows with the intent to best establish how to infiltrate your work environment. As he suspected, you held a high ranking position inside a corporate office– head of human resources for one of the many subsidiaries of some conglomerate Hyunjin had never heard of, as typically there is no need or reason for him to be well versed in human's business dealings. 

Becoming someone you work with directly would be the best route, he was sure. Whether on equal ground or as someone answering to you on a team, it was the option that gave him the most opportunity to create a connection with you, and maybe be the start of one of those sappy office romances that humans seem to enjoy in their media. 

It was fine if there were no employment openings– it'd be simple for Hyunjin to create one by exerting his influence over a human's mind. He'd pick out whomever you liked the least, someone who bothered you either overtly or simply by being an inefficient worker, and he'd take their place. He could plant the idea of a career change, a desire to move across the country, or simply sabotage their work and get them fired should the gentler, subtle approach be deemed too time consuming for Hyunjin's taste. 

Of course, Hyunjin knew jack fucking shit about how your job truly works or what would be required of him if he was on your team, but that was fine too– it would be easy for him to fake his performance when necessary, and charm any who questioned his work abilities.

He wouldn't enjoy lying to you directly if there was ever a need for it but, well.. The ends justify the means, don't they? And while he wouldn't charm you for love, certainly it wouldn't hurt to do so to make him appear a better worker than what he would be in reality, right? 

No matter what his hypocritical justifications were, he’d do anything necessary to make you his, even if it meant having to lie at times. It was a foreign feeling, having a guilty conscience– after all, lying is as innate to a demon as breathing is to humans.

He supposed his infatuation for you is what makes lying begin to feel different. Is that why truth was considered a godly virtue? It was the first time in his life that just the thought of lying, before it could even be an act done in the first place, felt.. wrong.

Maybe because on some subconscious level he recognized that love woven from lies isn’t true, no matter how much he’d wish it to be. Even if you fell sincerely in love with him, would it still satisfy him to have gotten there based on tricks and lies?

When he determined that the answer to that question was a firm “no,” he vowed he would do his best to keep lies far from his lips when it came to you, even if that made his goal more difficult to achieve. Strange, how this was easily the most human he’d ever felt. 

In a way, it is almost natural to feel this way, to be met with internal conflict for the first time in ages; most demons are born directly from human sin, after all. What is he, if not the physical manifestation of a human who has fallen from perfection?

More powerful than a mere human though he was, his proverbial soul still held an innate inclination towards sin, still struggled with the temptation and decadence inherent to his very being. Hypocrisy and corruption went hand in hand with sin, hand in hand with the very human condition he would oft wrongfully deny he felt.

And that wasn’t the only human emotion that came to him when he watched you at work for the first time. Most of the morning was spent rather uneventfully, Hyunjin’s time dedicated entirely to scoping out the environment and determining where he’d best fit within your corporate world.

He observed the people on your team, who was designated where and what their duties were, keeping track of what feelings and opinions you had for whom, looking out for who he would be able to effectively replace.

Without warning, he sensed it, felt it, tasted it– love, seeping out of your pores, heart suddenly alight and a smile that should be reserved for him lingering on your lips. Jealousy pricked Hyunjin’s skin before he could even fully process the scene before him, a deep fondness in your eyes as a man that Hyunjin could only assume was from another department approached you with a smile of his own.

Shit. It was expected that he would find out who you loved eventually, but he didn’t anticipate that it would be here, in the very environment he was setting up to be the stage for your romance with him.

The man asked you questions and talked in ways you’d expect to hear between friends and coworkers– “how’d the move go?”, “are you settling in well?”, and “you should invite me over sometime!”

It was the last statement that made Hyunjin’s eye twitch with suppressed anger, not much liking the idea of the person you’re in love with being alone with you in your apartment. Every time you giggled at something he said or blushed when the man held your gaze, it nearly made him sick with envy.

Fuck him, he didn’t deserve you, Hyunjin thought, I'm better than him in every conceivable way, that should be me.

This man didn’t love you the way you loved him; Hyunjin could tell, could feel the platonic affection that radiated from him. And instead of being happy about the implication that Hyunjin would have no rival for your affection when he pursued you in earnest, it almost made him more pissed off.

This guy didn’t even know how fucking perfect you were, didn’t seem to notice the way your eyes sparkled with affection, how your heart raced when he hugged you, or the bashful smile that lingered when he invited you to share your lunch hour with him.

He’s a complete fucking idiot for not being head over hells for you– you, who’s only sin is lust, who is beautiful, intelligent, humble, and positively radiant in presence without even realizing just how much value she truly has.

It’s okay, he has to remind himself, it’s a good thing his one-sided rival doesn’t share your sentiment; because when Hyunjin shows you how beautiful you are, treats you with the reverence you deserve, your heart would surely shift to beat for him instead. He’ll make sure of it.

You let out a sigh as you comb through the next resume that found its way to your desk, exhausted from the amount of interviews you've conducted today. This was probably your least favorite aspect of your job if you were being honest; being the head of human resources put you in charge of all recruiting efforts, scanning through countless applications to determine who was the best fit for the company, but you never enjoyed doing it. 

It always makes you feel guilty to determine someone else's worth based on a flimsy piece of paper and interview first impressions, where nerves are almost always at their peak as the person sitting across from you makes their best conscious effort to impress you. It is also not a job you can delegate to someone else on your team, unfortunately; your place at the top of the HR department made all hiring decisions entirely up to your own discretion.

And apart from the guilt of knowing you couldn't hire everyone that walked through your door, it was so tiring to go over the same questions multiple times a day with a myriad of strangers. 

Hwang Hyunjin was the name of the last person you'd be interviewing today (much to your relief) and you hoped he'd be the person to wow you in the end, as you have lukewarm feelings to who you've met thus far.

Despite the impressive credentials on most resumes you reviewed, none of the people you'd met seemed to be a good long term fit for the company; some of them would likely only be good as temps, needing to be let go unless they showed substantial improvement in the areas they were lacking in. 

It was a terrible thing to judge someone based on whether or not they were able to calm their nerves or had enough charisma, but when working for corporate conglomerates you can't afford to be meek. It was okay to be shy and reserved in your personal life, many people in the office were, but for the sake of professionalism you're required to have the ability to put meek tendencies aside.

If the interviewee couldn't speak with confidence, then you had reason to believe they'd crack under the daily pressures of speaking with representatives of other departments or when handling sensitive negotiations. Unfortunately, you don't typically have the luxury of giving applicants the benefit of the doubt or the ability to give them the opportunity to change your first impression of them.

You take a glance at the clock hanging above the door to your office, opposite of your desk; it's just a few short minutes until you meet your last applicant, and you pray he'll be the person you've been looking for. Despite how desperate you are to fill the hole in your team after Mina's extremely abrupt resignation and move out of the country, you still don't want to desperately hire someone just to fill the gap she left- you want someone capable and confident on your team. 

You take one last passing glance at the man's resume, making sure you're familiar with his education and work history, not wanting to be mistaken on any of the details listed. A short succession of knocks are heard on your door a few moments later, and you look up from the resume you're rereading to see Nayeon opening the door just enough for her head to come into view.

"M-Ma'am, H-Hwang Hyunjin, uh- he's here for his interview," she speaks in a timid voice, face flushed the brightest pink you'd ever seen on her. Your brows furrow ever so slightly in wonder and concern at her out of character demeanor; Nayeon is among the most confident and well spoken employees on your team, and you've never known her to stutter or appear so off kilter.

"..Right, send him in," you say after a moment, wondering if her attitude shift is due to the stranger you'd be meeting shortly; if that is the case, you'll have to talk to her about it once the interview is over– you wouldn't want to hire someone the people on your team are uncomfortable around. 

She nods and opens the door further, the silhouette of the taller man coming into view just slightly behind her. "Right in here," she mutters, stepping to the side and motioning for Hyunjin to enter your office. It becomes immediately apparent what the reason for Nayeon's abnormal behavior is; Hwang Hyunjin is easily one of the most beautiful men you've ever seen in your entire life. 

Black hair that just begins to touch his shoulders tucked neatly behind his ears, a few strands left untouched to frame his face, accompanied by wide circle glasses that seem to further enhance his beauty. He's dressed well, his suit modern and sleek but not overly formal for the setting, his accessories tasteful and understated, as they should be in an office environment– just a simple, long chain necklace and small, almost dainty hoops on his pierced ears. 

The reason why a man this gorgeous would even be applying to work here when he could easily make a fortune being a model is beyond you.

You're quick to correct the initial surprise on your face, hoping that the man you'll be interviewing didn't notice how struck by his beauty you were when he stepped in. And how could you even know that he did notice you had a reaction to him– and not because of any overtly obvious expression of attraction, but because he could hear the beating of your heart with his inhuman ears, its steady rhythm taking a sudden, erratic jump the very moment he first stepped through the door. 

Nayeon is quick to close the door behind Hyunjin once he has stepped fully inside your office, leaving you in privacy for what will likely be the most difficult interview you have ever conducted– and not for the reasons you would've otherwise expected.

"Have a seat," you speak clearly, as if your heart wasn't stuttering just mere moments ago, motioning for Hyunjin to take one of the chairs sitting opposite of your desk. "Pleasure to meet you, Hyunjin," you say after he's taken a seat, politely holding out your hand to shake his.

"Likewise, ma'am. I'm grateful to be considered for this position," he responds with a smile so effortlessly charming that you have to once again remind yourself that this is a professional setting and you shouldn't be thinking about how handsome the potential new addition to your team is.

If you were a worse woman with lesser morals, you'd hire him on appearance alone– his flawless skin, plush, soft, almost inviting lips, and the little mole that sits daintily under his left eye are all positively bewitching to look at. 

You collect yourself after a brief mental scolding, deciding to get straight into the most pertinent questions you have once he's settled in his seat, opting to waste no time in getting straight to the point. While this approach does make the interview more tense for the applicant, you find it best to go about it this way to make sure they're truly ready for the sort of discussions that will be expected of them should they get hired.

You don't expect perfection, but more accurately determination– if they can maintain a confident air about them under pressure, that's typically a good indicator to you they'll be a good fit for your team. Equally, you don't mind if they stumble over their words a few times throughout the course of the interview as long as they show the ability to bounce back from any slip ups.

Error is expected at some point, as we are all human– you just want to assess their ability to come back from a mistake when speaking, and to see if they are able to maintain their composure in situations that may not be the most ideal or comfortable. 

The ease at which Hyunjin answers your questions has you convinced that he's perfect. 

He speaks confidently, coming across as self-assured and charismatic, not at all stuttering or faltering when you ask him to speak candidly with his own words. You appreciate a well rehearsed answer of course, but you like to ascertain whether or not the person you're considering for the job is able to maintain confidence when not using an internal script or reciting their memorized resume. 

Some struggle to do so, losing confidence in themselves the moment they are expected to go off the cuff, while others find it to be a trick question of sorts, as if you're baiting them to say a flaw that would place them out of consideration for the position they're applying for.

What you value most on your team is adaptability– it's okay to falter for a brief moment, as long as they are able to collect themselves quickly and continue where they left off. And Hyunjin's ability to do just that is utterly astounding. 

He has an almost effortless sort of confidence and charisma about him; something unique and special that you don't often see, a state of being that isn't learned, but rather is innate to who he is. Even when he briefly pauses or lets out a small "hmm" as he thinks about his answer to your question, it never feels like he's struggling to find his answer– more accurately, it seems that he already knows what his answer is, and is just pondering on the best way to phrase it before speaking. 

It seemed that even his unrehearsed, unfiltered answers were nearly perfect, his ability to speak leaving you almost in awe. Truly, in the year and a half it's been since you were promoted to head of human resources, you'd never conducted an interview where the person you were speaking to seemed this effortlessly natural and comfortable in what is otherwise a tense situation.

Honestly, you'd be a fool not to hire him right on the spot– his ability speaks for itself, and you're confident that any weaknesses he has can be corrected quickly and easily with more experience in the work environment. 

So you congratulate him, smiling as you once again hold out your hand and welcome him as part of your team. And Hyunjin smiles too as he takes your hand in his, knowing that this is just the start of what is his grand plan to make you his.

In the months it’s been since you first hired Hyunjin, he’s come to learn so much more about you than he did just lingering around in your apartment, and with that has come an even deeper appreciation and desire to have you.

Your good nature, which he knew you had from little interactions at shops and cafes, was now able to be fully seen by him– from the way you cared about your team, treated them like equals despite the fact that you were their superior in rank, and how you encouraged and fostered true friendships between everyone on your team. 

You held so much sincere care for everyone around you, and you lead with compassion and kindness at the forefront. If someone was sick, having an off day due to mental health, or simply felt the pressures of life weighing them down, you always met them with compassion. You encouraged them to get better, and never made them feel bad about themselves for any small slip ups that occurred while they were struggling with something. 

Of course, in this line of work it’s vital that they show up always ready to do their utmost best and show others the best versions of themselves, but you weren’t some militant manager that expected people to always be at 100%.

It’s unrealistic, and hypocritical to expect perfection, so instead you always did your best to accommodate them when they were low, and that consideration resulted in your coworkers and employees having a great deal of respect for you; it was easy to see why your team always put in their best effort at work. 

By extension, your care for your team resulted in equal care towards you, and it seemed they greatly missed you when you were absent due to your move. They had fine enough leadership while you were gone, sure, but it wasn’t the same without you– the one who made them feel comfortable, secure, and made them want to perform well at their jobs.

What Hyunjin felt watching you was something akin to pride– and it was strange, as he had never felt pride for someone else before. He hardly ever even felt it for himself.

He just liked seeing you succeed, if he had to guess; he liked knowing the woman he desired was not only beautiful in body but also in soul, just as he suspected her to be when he first came to put aside his anger and truly know her for who she is.

What a happy accident it was, that he happened to be gone when you finalized your move to suite 13; because otherwise how would he ever have known what it was like to care about someone other than himself? To understand what it is that makes a human God’s greatest creation? 

He gets it now, he thinks– why God prioritized humanity, why he loves them despite how flawed and drenched with sin they are. And again, it occurs to Hyunjin how hypocritical he was before, and continues to be even now, how foolish it is for him, the very embodiment of sin, a being who is supposed to uphold depravity and ruin, to be infatuated with you, who is the very image of benevolence.

Hyunjin got to see so many new sides of you, sides that didn’t make themselves known within the 4 walls of your apartment, sides that made him fall for you more and more. A demon can’t experience love the way a human does, but he thinks this is the closest to love a creature like him will ever have.

Obsession, longing, desire.. Isn’t that all a manifestation of love? Perhaps one does not need a true heart and soul to experience what love is; maybe all that one really requires is feeling. 

Most sins are a feeling- lust, pride, envy; all are an emotion you feel strongly within your gut, a natural reaction that cannot be prevented from pricking your skin or making your stomach twist. It’s innate, woven into the DNA of every creature with higher understanding.

With all that in mind, who is to say a demon can’t love? Maybe it won’t be felt in the same way a human feels it, but if love is a feeling, and sins are a feeling, then what truly prevents him from knowing love? 

As equally as he learned about you and himself, he also learned about the man you had developed feelings for– Yunho. According to Nayeon, who was apparently a wealth of information when it came to the subject, you met Yunho in college and have been friends with him since. You grew quite close in your time studying the same major, and as fate would have it, you both ended up working for the same conglomerate after college. 

While you ended up here, promoted to head of the department when the opening became available, Yunho worked for a different subsidiary within the same building; so while you technically worked for different companies, you shared the same CEO, and had ample opportunity to meet and talk during the company lunch hour and maintain the friendship you had in college. 

Well, he imagines you would’ve still been friends with Yunho regardless of where the two of you ended up in life after graduation. But still continuing to see him daily certainly didn’t help you get over the college crush you had on the man.

And you had tried to move on– you’re not stupid, you know Yunho doesn’t feel the same way as you. But your relationships never worked out as you’d hoped, and you’d always be left at relationships end still battling your unrequited love for your best friend. 

Though you are always professional, it was obvious, at least to the other women in the office, that you had deep feelings for Yunho. They could always tell in the way your face changed when he was near, displaying a timid smile that only ever showed up for him, the flush on your face subtle but recognizable to those who knew you well.  

And by extension, it became increasingly obvious to the rest of the office that Hyunjin was down bad for you, and hated seeing you with Yunho. His face too always changed when Yunho arrived, would be positively seething with jealousy, always failing to mask the frown of disapproval when Yunho stepped into your office to talk and invite you out for lunch outside the building. 

And Hyunjin went above and beyond to be a gentleman when it came to you– holding open doors for you when walking somewhere together, carrying stacks upon stacks of heavy paperwork so you wouldn’t have to do it, memorizing the way you liked your coffee so he could get it for you and you could focus instead on your work.

The only time Hyunjin ever wasn’t smiling, it was when you were giving your affection to Yunho. It was painfully obvious how bad he wanted you; if he was trying to keep his feelings a secret, well.. He failed spectacularly to do so at every turn.

Everyone in the office could tell how he felt, and while they would never admit it, most were just waiting for the day he’d ask you out, as it seemed to be more and more inevitable that he would. Some who had been your coworkers since long before you were even promoted, and knew of your unrequited feelings, hoped that Hyunjin could be the person to finally give you the happiness you deserve. 

Even you yourself began to suspect that Hyunjin liked you as more than a friend or coworker, because why else would he go so out of his way for you? Why else would his face change whenever he saw Yunho?

You can still remember the way his smile dropped when Yunho stepped into the room when you were having lunch with your team, how Hyunjin subtly clenched his teeth and tightened his fists, how he’d practically glare at the man before replacing his expression with the most forced smile you’d ever seen him have for the sake of professionalism. 

Were you being delusional? To say Hyunjin is fucking gorgeous is an understatement– he’s practically ethereal. And while you wanted to move on from your stupid school girl crush on Yunho that continued to grip you all these years later, wasn’t it too much to fantasize about Hyunjin being the person to finally make you happy?

He could have anyone, and you couldn’t understand why he’d want you of all people when he could easily bag someone more impressive than you. You did well for yourself, but you didn’t consider yourself particularly desirable..

Maybe years of unrequited love and failed relationships made your confidence tank more than you realized; at least when it came to love and romance.

And while there were other couples in the office, you worried it’d be unprofessional of you to date someone who you are technically the boss of.. Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the power dynamic instead of worrying about whether or not you were desirable enough for Hyunjin to want you? 

God, you really needed to get your priorities straight before you did something stupid; and certainly you were just reading too far into things. But still, while your feelings for Yunho didn’t go away, you still couldn’t deny that your heart would race whenever Hyunjin smiled at you, couldn’t ignore how goosebumps would erupt on your skin when his hand lingered on yours as he handed you a perfectly made cup of coffee, couldn’t help but linger on the the thought of what a perfect lover he must be.

As if sensing you were thinking of him, you hear a knock on your door, breaking you out of your thoughts and met with the sight of Hyunjin cracking open the door. “May I?” he asks, and you smile politely with a nod, motioning for him to enter your office.

“Hey Hyunjin, what’s up? Need something?” you ask and he shakes his head, sitting on the chair in front of you.

“Nothing work related, though I do want to ask you something,” he replies, and immediately your mind wanders to delusional territory again, though you quickly try to shut it down. 

“What is it?” you ask, trying your best not to fill your brain with the thought of Hyunjin making a move on you. Be professional for God’s sake.

“I was wondering,” he starts, looking at you with that charming smile that is so natural to him, and that you always have to stop yourself from folding over at the sight of, “If you don’t have any prior obligations today, would you like to have lunch with me?” 

Oh no. He’s adding fuel to your delusional fire. “Just us?” you ask, trying to mask your hope, or the way your heart is picking up speed. You really want to be chill about the invite, but you really can’t help but hope the invitation means something more. He’s perfect, how could you not? You’re only human, after all. Isn’t it natural to want someone this fucking beautiful to want you? 

“Yes, just us. You don’t have to consider it a date, but.. I would be happy if you did,” he smiles, head tilting to the side in an almost playful display, and your heart jolts.

He’s not just playing with you, right? He wouldn’t, would he? But you have to ask, “You make it sound as if you want me to consider it a date. Are you saying you like me?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, ma’am,” he replies without hesitation, confidence fully on display. It’s as if the possibility of you saying “no” has never crossed his mind. You’d probably be confident too if you looked anything like him; you don’t imagine he’s been rejected often.

And well, you certainly won’t be the person to hit him with his first rejection either; you’ll have to ask a third party to handle the necessary paperwork if things go well between you and Hyunjin, as the head of the department can’t approve and oversee her own consensual relationship agreement, but it’ll be worth it, you think. 

After all, if someone this beautiful and seemingly perfect wants you, why deny yourself the opportunity? Even if it doesn’t work out, maybe he’ll be the person to finally help you get over your stupid crush on your best friend that’s been going nowhere for years.

Apart from his beauty, he’s always been chivalrous and attentive towards you, a true gentleman in every sense of the word. And even if it's only for a brief time, you think he can make you feel happy, desired, truly cared for.

You’re about to tell him you’d love to, when your door unexpectedly clicks open, your eyes moving past Hyunjin to see Yunho standing in the doorway. Hyunjin immediately scowls, having half a mind to rip him apart once the day is over, though he does his best to temper his aggravation.

He can’t let himself lose face in front of the one he loves after all; he’s not sure you’d still be up for a date with him if he displayed his jealous, possessive tendencies this early on (not that he did a very good job of hiding them to begin with.)

“Shit, sorry- am I interrupting a meeting?” Yunho asks, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes, turning his gaze back to you instead.

“No, nothing like that,” you answer, shifting your gaze back to Hyunjin, who for the first time looks concerned that you’ll turn him down. It’s subtle, but his eyes are softer, nearly pleading, though he tries his best to not display the desperation that lies underneath- the desperation for you to affirm that you like him too, that you want to go on a date with him, that you want to give him a chance. 

“Oh, good,” Yunho sighs in relief; he knows that sometimes your work bleeds over into the lunch hour, and he'd have hated to interrupt something important. He glances at Hyunjin next, a slight frown forming on his face.

He’s never spoken to the guy, but Yunho would have to be blind to not notice that Hyunjin hates him for seemingly no reason. “Well, uh– I’ll let you get back to whatever talk you’re having. I’ll see you for lunch when it's over?” Yunho asks, and you can see Hyunjin swallow, hands tensing as he waits for your reply. 

Please don’t reject me, his body practically screams, and you almost can’t believe that the confident Hyunjin you know is looking this nervous over potential rejection because of you. 

“Thanks, but I’m actually having lunch with Hyunjin today. Maybe next time?” you answer, smiling at Hyunjin to reassure him that yes, you are going on a date. No, you won’t be picking Yunho over him, despite the history that lies there.  

Relief instantly spreads through Hyunjin, and he returns your smile, his confidence returning in a blink, as if it’d never left in the first place.

“Oh,” Yunho blinks in surprise; that’s.. unexpected. You’ve never prioritized someone else over him before. Huh. He feels.. strange. Jealous..? No, that can’t be right. Why would he be jealous? Hyunjin stands, offering his hand to you, which you accept before you stand yourself. 

“Are you ready, ma’am? I know this cafe you’ll just love, but we have to hurry if we wan’t to make it back before the hour is over,” Hyunjin smiles, turning away to face the door, and subsequently, an almost bewildered looking Yunho.

You miss the way Hyunjin shoots your best friend a smug, almost triumphant smirk; a smirk that says I’ve won, she’s mine. And even as Yunho watches the pair of you walk towards the elevator, hears you tell Hyunjin he can call you by your name when it’s “just the two of us,” suddenly he feels incredibly stupid. 

Even as he’s left standing there, watching the elevator doors close with just the two of you inside, he can feel his gut twist as Hyunjin shoots him one last smirk, one that affirms something Yunho is just now realizing– there was a reason Hyunjin hated him. All this time, Yunho was a rival for love, and he just lost the race without ever having actually participated. 

He scoffs, laughing at himself in near disbelief. What an idiot he’s been, and what a moment to realize it. He knew you had a crush on him, but what did he expect? That you’ll always be there, just waiting for the day he’d finally miraculously return your feelings after all these years?

Of course you’d move on eventually; and maybe Yunho didn’t want to admit he found your infatuation with him to be a comfortable ego boost, now hit with the epiphany that his newfound jealousy over the loss of your affection is ugly and twisted. 

And truly, Hyunjin had him beat. Somehow, he knew that this was the end of your feelings for him. How ironic it is to lose due to his own complacency, his expectation that you’d always be there no matter what relationships you found yourselves in.

How arrogant and selfish he’d been, assured that no matter whom he slept with or pursued, you’d be there just waiting for the day he’d finally ask you out. But now Hyunjin has you, and he’s certain he’ll never let you go.

Dating Hwang Hyunjin is like a fairytale you thought only existed in the imaginations of young girls that had not yet experienced the disappointment of reality. You imagined he'd be a perfect lover, but you truly hadn't anticipated just how accurate your interpretation of him would end up being. 

He took you on more dates than you could count on your fingers– to museums and exhibits, to restaurants you'd never find on your own with delicious menus. He took you on picnics with the scenic views of the city, of nature, or the setting sun, staying until stars hung in the sky and your only illumination was the vibrant moon shining on just the two of you.

You learned that he was a reader of classic literature, with an impressive knowledge of romantic poetry and novellas, often able to recite the most beautiful lines you'd ever heard straight from his own memory. When he took you to museums, you learned more from Hyunjin himself than the tour guide, and truly it seemed like he was an encyclopedia for all things creative, classic, and romantic in nature.

He was multilingual, which you knew from his resume, but to actually hear him recite something in latin with ease was something else entirely. It was if it came naturally to him, like it wasn't technically a dead language, and you almost couldn't believe it was just an extra class he took in college for fun.

He endlessly impressed you– with his beauty, his intelligence, his attentiveness, his.. everything, really. And he never let you feel inferior to him, always assured you how happy he was that you were his girlfriend beyond just taking you out on dates throughout the city.

He bought you many, many gifts– clothes that always fit you perfectly, that not only suited your tastes but that he thought you'd look beautiful in. Sweet treats, often your favorites but other times just slightly outside your usual comfort zone– just enough to get you to try something new to fall in love with the taste of. 

Stuffed teddy bears or other cute animals meant to remind you of him, jewelry that was sometimes dainty and meant to be office appropriate (in which he'd have the brightest smile seeing you come into work wearing it) and other times lavish, extravagant pieces that somehow were always stunning without being tacky or garish.

If he brought you a necklace or bracelet before a date, he'd help you put it on, smiling when it fit you perfectly and complimented your skin tone, always touching you softly and showering you with compliments.

And while acts of service were clearly a huge love language of his, it wasn't like Hyunjin just showered you with gifts and fun dates and expected that to be enough (which would be valid if it was enough for some people, but you want more than that! You value emotional connection!) He always made time for you outside of the office or promised dates, coming to your apartment anytime you asked just to spend time with you. 

He always listened to you so attentively, genuinely interested in things you liked, and listened to your input when it came to what to do for you next date. He listened to your thoughts and ideas, let you vent if you were having a hard day, hugged you sweetly if you needed reassurance or were feeling stressed.

He'd spend hours on the couch with you watching movies if that's what you wanted to do that day, and he always paid undivided attention to you or what you were doing together, never pulling out his phone or mentally checking out even once. 

Everyday with Hyunjin feels like it's Valentine's Day– and honestly you can't even imagine what he'll do when an actual romantic holiday or your anniversary rolls around when he's already so perfect to you. Even months into your relationship he still holds open doors for you, still carries anything that seems even the slightest bit heavy, still dotes on you as if he still has to prove he's a gentleman (when you clearly already know he is.) 

You honestly can't express enough how perfect Hyunjin is, and how much you appreciate the relationship you now have, but.. well, if you're being honest there is one problem. Nothing major, of course, just.. You think you're going to explode if he doesn't fuck you soon, or at least touch you somewhere less than polite.

The first time he kissed you was at the end of your third date; you were certain things were going well, felt those infamous sparks other people talk about- like every cell in your body was gunpowder and it had just been ignited. You became addicted to kissing him after that, always seeking out his plush, soft and perfect lips, even if it was just for a quick peck to satiate you until later. 

You made out for the first time just under a month ago, and that spark turned into a full on blaze, hot and raging and dangerously close to burning out of control. You wanted him so bad, more than you ever imagined you'd want someone; it was almost sad to say your past relationships and attractions paled in comparison to how Hyunjin ignited your deeply hidden passionate side. 

Still, Hyunjin hadn't touched you intimately yet, and while you suspected it's because he's a gentleman waiting for the right sign or explicit, worded permission, you were going crazy inside. You don't know if you even have it in you to make the first move, truthfully; you feel almost.. intimidated?

Whenever you think about it, your mind always travels to how effortlessly beautiful he is, and despite how much he shows you that he wants you as his girlfriend, you are admittedly still struggling with thoughts of your own desirability.

It almost makes you feel ashamed despite how natural a feeling it is. You know you should be confident, but it's not something that just comes to you just because you know objectively you're worthy; knowing it and feeling it are different things entirely.

You wish you could just pull it together with a snap of your fingers; like c'mon Y/N, you're a beautiful woman who holds an impressive leadership position, who graduated with high honors and has more than enough to show for it! Why wouldn't Hyunjin want you? You're a catch! 

You sigh, setting down the knife you were using to cut the veggies for tonight's dinner with Hyunjin, closing your eyes to collect yourself for a moment. Isn't it a bit pathetic for you to be reduced to insecurity over past rejections and unrequited love when what you have now is such a fairytale?

You wish it'd just go away, so you can tell Hyunjin to fuck you until you're dumb and have no thoughts left in your head but his cock filling you up, but- 

You jump slightly when you feel Hyunjin's arms wrap around you from behind, and he chuckles a bit, apologizing for startling you; you were so wrapped up in your thoughts you didn't even notice him rise from the sofa when he heard you sigh and put down the knife.

"What's bothering you, my love?" he asks, his chest pressing firmly against your back as he kisses the top of your head, "You seem so tense tonight.. Is dinner giving you a hard time?" 

Your heart always picks up when he uses that affectionate term for you; you're not sure if your relationship could already be classified as "love" when you've only been together a few months, but you love the way it sounds falling from his lips all the same. "No, it's not that.." you frown a bit, not melting into his embrace the way you usually do. 

"Feeling stressed out again?" he inquired next, his hands moving up to your shoulders to feel for any tension and massage it away if it exists. You hum in confirmation, finally melting against his body when his hands rub soothing circles in your tender skin, just deep enough to relieve some of the built up tension without leaving you sore and achy.

"Stressed, and.." you pause a moment, biting your lip as you consider if you'll really continue and admit what it is you really need.

"And?" Hyunjin's voice comes out in a soft question, clearly wanting to know what it is you want to say but with no intention to force it out of you.

"S-Stressed, and.. frustrated." you finally acquiesce after a short-lived internal fight with your nerves. You're not even entirely sure he'll get the implication behind you saying it in the way you did, if he'll recognize your need for a physical touch beyond what you've felt with him so far but you hope he does, because you're not sure you're capable of just coming straight out and saying "please fuck me before I lose my mind." 

Hyunjin is the next one to hum, his tone relaying understanding. Goosebumps erupt on your skin when he leans his head down to kiss your shoulder and neck, his hands traveling from your shoulder to rub down your arms.

"Why don't I finish dinner, hmm? Have you relax in the bath while I take care of everything," his voice is soft, almost a whisper, his hands finding your waist and rubbing carefully over the area before moving down to your hips.

"It'll be finished by the time you're done, we'll have a little wine," he continues, his lips now touching the shell of your ear, his voice reaching you directly, "And after that.. I'll take care of you. In any way you want me to."

A kiss pressed to your skin, a shiver running down your spine as you suck in a breath– he definitely got the message. His right hand reaches up to your face, fingers finding their place on your left cheek, guiding you to twist your face to meet his gaze from behind you.

He leans down to kiss you like this, one hand holding your face where he wants it and the other squeezing the meat of your hip. Hyunjin holds the kiss for several seconds, making sure it lingers and tingles on your skin when he pulls away, already expertly planting the seeds of desire and anticipation within your gut.

"How's that sound, lovely?" he asks and you blink for a moment, your brain already feeling like it's going to melt out of your ears from how eager and desperate for more intimacy you are. 

You nod, almost dumbly, and he smiles, planting a quick peck to your forehead before he helps you prepare for a bath. He runs the water hot, wanting warmth to linger for as long as you'll need it to once you're settled and used to the temperature.

While he takes care of the bath, you spend your time picking out what you'll wear afterwards. You swallow as you rummage through your drawers, possibilities seemingly endless. 

You've never been in a situation like this– a situation where you knew with absolute certainty that you'd be getting your pussy wet by the end. Your sexual encounters were never preplanned, not even with your past boyfriends.

It was always spur of the moment, especially since you were too college-then-career focused to spend time on dating apps looking for hookups. Honestly, it was kind of exhilarating; and suddenly you felt like you understood what the appeal of knowing you were going to get laid by the end of the night was. 

And Hyunjin, well.. he promised himself he wouldn't fuck you until he was sure without a shadow of a doubt that you were head over heels in love with him and only him, because it was that kind of first time with you he was seeking.

But that didn't mean he couldn't have fun with you in the meantime, did it? And how could he say no when he could literally fucking taste the desperation on you? He'd be a good boyfriend to you, and give you whatever he could within his limits, because you're his perfect girl, and he'll always spoil you in any way he can. 

After the tub is full, Hyunjin leaves the bathroom, smiling at you when he sees you standing in the hallway patiently, towel and a change of clothes in hand.

"Take your time, lovely," he pecks your head again as he passes by, ready to tackle finishing dinner while you soak in the tub. You texted him instructions just in case before you left your bedroom with your clothes and towel, so you're confident that it'll turn out well without your guidance– and besides, Hyunjin cooks well anyways; you're sure it'd turn out delicious even if he didn't follow your instructions. 

Your soak in the tub is spent entirely on thoughts of Hyunjin's hands and lips on your body, wondering what he'll do and how. You wonder how much of the heat on your body is from the water, and how much is from your own mental images of him between your legs.

Thankfully, the water actually does manage to loosen up your tense muscles (despite your anticipation doing you no favors), and you do just as Hyunjin instructed; you take your time. Dinner won't be done any faster just because you hurry, after all, so why not soak and destress and indulge in your little fantasies?

You dry off thoroughly when you step out of the tub, pulling on your prettiest pair of white panties and a silky slip nightgown- a cream color with lace accents on the hems. You brought a cardigan too, just for warmth while you eat dinner, though you don't bother to button it up at all the way, leaving the upper most buttons undone so Hyunjin can have a clear view of your chest while you share dinner.

It's a bit bold of you to purposely display your cleavage, but what's the harm in enticing him further? You know he wants you as his partner, but seeming him want you physically too would be everything.

The nightgown is tight enough to hug your curves, which means it also clearly displays your stomach, but.. Well, Hyunjin isn't blind, you're certain he knows that the woman he's dating has a chubbier physique than other women in the office.

But he wanted you out of all of them, and he's spent so much time calling you beautiful and giving you the world, that you imagine he either likes bigger girls, or at the very least doesn't let weight dictate someone's appeal. So, you're not self conscious in the slightest– at least, not about that.

You still have nerves, but you think that's natural when you're dating, and plan to have sex with, someone attractive enough to have people falling at his feet for a chance to be with him. 

When you step out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, Hyunjin is just finishing plating the food and is pouring the wine into two glasses he pulled out from your cabinets, already familiar with where you typically keep them.

"Feeling better?" he asks with a soft smile when he notices your presence, and you don't miss the way his eyes drop to your chest, a glint of something flashing in his eyes before he looks back to your face– desire for your body, you hope.

You sit across from each other at your dinner table, having the quietest dinner the two of you have ever shared– though the tension being built is far from uncomfortable. His eyes linger right where you wanted them to, tempting him, teasing him, and you're buzzing with anticipation, almost giddy whenever his eyes meet your again as he sips from his wine. 

Your face is dusted pink all the way to your ears, but you'd blame it on the wine if he asked (though you suspect he'd know better than to believe that.) Hyunjin downs the last of his wine in one gulp when he's finished eating, and you do the same, wiping your mouth carefully with a napkin before you look at him again. He's standing now, gathering the dishes from the table and bringing them to the kitchen. 

You follow, intending to help him wash and put them away, but he tuts at you. "Baby, you're supposed to be relaxing and letting me do the work! Go get comfortable and wait for me, hmm?" He instructs and you can't help but smile, doing as he instructs after you thank him, quickly making the trip to your bedroom. 

However, the nerves hit you again once you're in your room, and you sit on the edge of your bed, fiddling with your hands as you think about what you should do next. Just lay down and get comfortable as you would if you were going to bed? Should you present yourself to him? Get into some enticing position he won't be able to resist? Stay right where you are now and let him lead you wherever he wants you?

You've never experienced so much build up before– you almost feel like the inexperienced girl you were in college again. God, you don't know what to do with yourself and you're definitely overthinking it– but you can't help it! Hyunjin is just so.. well, he's Hyunjin. And that alone is enough to send your nerves into overdrive as your mind races with the possibilities of what's to come. 

You hear him chuckle softly when he's in the doorway, looking at you who is very clearly shy, twiddling your thumbs as you wait for him. It took everything in Hyunjin to not say "fuck this" over dinner and just take you on the table, the lust pouring off you enough to make him lose control if he was a lesser demon.

And now, he can hear the thumping of your heart louder than ever, can smell the arousal pooling in your underwear even more clearly than he could over your meal. 

"Silly girl," he says with a near grin as he steps fully inside your room, meeting you right where you are at the edge of the bed, "Why didn't you get comfortable? Sweet thing, you're nervous, aren't you?"

He carefully nudges your legs so he can stand between them, and you swallow as you nod and look up at him, not sure how much more of the anticipation you can handle before you snap and just drag him to you in a fervor. 

One of his hands comes to your cheek again, rubbing gentle, soothing circles with his thumb as he leans down to kiss you. He does it slowly, the combination of his soft lips and the taste of wine that still lingers on them making your stomach flip. It doesn't take long for him to introduce his tongue, in the same manner he always does– rubbing over your lips before pushing past them.

You're always left panting, lips stained red by the time he pulls away, and tonight his kisses leave you especially dizzy with need. "Take care of those buttons," he instructs in a near plea as his fingers ghost over your neck in their downward descent, "or I might just pop them off when I pull this off you." Your breath hitches, though you're not sure if it's more from the words or the feeling of his fingers lingering on your neck. 

Hyunjin seems to notice that you like his fingers there, the way he notices everything when it comes to you, and he has to stop himself from smirking as he asks you about it. "My love- do you like being choked?"

You almost groan in embarrassment, not expecting him to have already noticed and asked about it. How are you so fucking transparent to him already? "I-I mean.. I'm curious. I've never done it, because.."

Well, it's probably best you don't get into an ex-boyfriend talk right when you finally have the possibility of Hyunjin fucking you into next week right in the palm of your hands.

"Uhm– it just never happened. But it looks nice. Really nice. I, uh– I think I'd like it," you say; certainly true, but without going into detail about how you always seemed to struggled to trust your boyfriends enough to release control and let them do it.

It's natural that giving control to someone else is hard for you; you've always been very independent, and your career puts you in a position where you are leading others, always in control of everything. But you like the idea of giving control to someone else in the bedroom, letting them take the lead and decide on how you'll receive the pleasure you crave– the real problem lied with finding someone you trust enough to truly let go with.

You think you can trust Hyunjin– he's been so, so perfect since the day you met him. You firmly believe he sees you for who you are beyond your physical attributes, that he values you beyond the superficial, and that he'd never hurt you (unless you asked him to, of course.)

Hyunjin naturally feels all this, can read every emotion that pours off of you– and the fact that you have trust that he'll treat you right positively elates him, knowing he’s one step closer to the love he craves so badly. 

"We can try, see if you like it," he says, soft and careful, "and it doesn't have to be now. We can always wait until later." His fingers now rub over your neck purposefully, never wrapping around but simply familiarizing your skin with the feeling of them there.

"Either way, we won't start with that. We need to build up to it first, don't you agree?" he asks and you hum with a nod- building up to it certainly sounds better than jumping straight into unfamiliar territory.

Carefully, and slowly, he lowers himself to his knees, still between your legs, now making it so he's the one looking up at you. "Even if we try it and you decide you don't like it, I'm so happy you trust me," he says before he kisses you once more, all his passion and affection behind the soft touch of his lips. "Do you already know what to do if you don't like it?"

You nod again, having become well familiarized with different safe words and systems you can put in place in your research on the topic when you first found out you might be into the rougher side of intimacy. Hyunjin tuts his time, displeased by the fact that you nodded instead of verbally answering him. "I need you to tell me what you know."

He already knows how much you know of course; his look through your phone painted him a vivid picture of your sexual intrests– but you need to say it to him regardless. And despite the tone he used, his eyes are still soft, and you can tell he genuinely cares about your safety and comfort, aiding more in the trust you feel.

"Sorry, I– I know what to do. Uh, traffic lights..?" you suggest, preferring that over coming up with a random safeword that you may not even remember if the time comes to use it. Hyunjin smiles again, whispering a soft "that's good" to you before he kisses you again, making sure all your nerves melt away now that the key elements are established. This is supposed to be fun and enjoyable above all else– nothing else matters but that. 

"Now, be a good girl and take care of those buttons like I asked you to, lovely," Hyunjin instructs in a gentle tone after he pulls away from your lips. With another shiver, you quickly do as you're told, fumbling with the buttons just slightly in your rush to get them all undone. You probably should've been more graceful about it- purposeful, maybe even sexy, but honestly you were acting before even fully considering how you'd appear. 

With the buttons undone, Hyunjin pulls the cardigan down your shoulders, and you pull your arms out of the sleeves. You pay no attention to where it gets discarded, Hyunjin's lips back on your much too distracting to care about something so trivial.

"Gonna take care of you now," he whispers against your lips, his fingers coming to bottom of your nightgown, where the hem squeezes against your parted thighs, "use your words if I do something you don't like."

You tell him you will, and he smiles again, rewarding you with one last sweet kiss to your lips before his lips trail your neck instead, his hands pushing your nightgown up your thighs until your panties are completely exposed.

One thing Hyunjin is confident of from his time looking over your porn history, it's that you love biting– and while he's unsure if it's just a fantasy you have that has remained unfilled in reality, similar to choking, he's decided it's the first step he's going to take in gently finding your limit and what boundaries you want to set between fantasy and reality.

Carefully, after his kisses to your skin have become familiar, he presses his teeth to the sensitive skin, and you gasp before he even has the chance to actually bite down. To Hyunjin's absolute delight, you tilt your head to the side to expose more of your neck to him, giving him all the permission he needs to sink his teeth into your soft, unmarred skin. You let out an involuntary squeak at first, the unfamiliar sensation sending a pool of heat to your gut– the act always seemed so hot, and now you knew for sure you loved it. 

It wasn't just the physical feeling of it you loved though– you loved the idea of your lover's marks remaining on your skin for days, leaving behind evidence that someone touched your body and brought you bliss. And while you'd certainly cover the marks with makeup for work, the knowledge that you and Hyunjin would share, that they are there just below the surface your concealer has created, would be exhilarating.

His hands leave your thighs, finding the straps of your nightgown and pulling them down, until your breasts are exposed for him to see. Pulling away from your neck, he admires you– the way your skin blooms with fresh bruises and impressions of his teeth, your nipples hard and begging to be played with, and your pretty white panties stained with arousal. You can see the lust in his eyes as he looks you over, and it makes you bite your lip in anticipation for what he'll do next. 

"I've told you so many times you're beautiful, haven't I?" he asks as he takes your heavy breasts into his hands, though you can tell it's rhetorical– he's not expecting a real response from you. Instead, he continues to speak as his hands squeeze and thumbs rub over your nipples. "But I haven't told you how fucking sexy you are yet, isn't that right? You're so alluring, it drives me crazy sometimes. Did you know that?" 

You can't help but let out a soft whine as you shake your head, completely clueless to the fact that you ever made him as crazy with need as he made you. You hoped you did plenty of times, but you really didn't know until now just how much he was holding back from having his hands all over you. His hands move to your hips next, fingers slipping into the band of your panties. 

You lift your hips from the bed, letting Hyunjin pull the soaked fabric down your thighs and then your legs, tossing them quickly aside. You hold the bed for additional support as he spreads your thighs further apart, sucking in a nervous breath when he looks directly at your dripping heat.

The fact that he's on his knees for you is already enough to have your heart feeling like it's going to beat out of your chest, but when he starts planting sensual, open-mouthed kisses to your thighs, mixed with carefully placed bites, you're done for.

Your thighs twitch with each kiss, jolt with each bite, your nails digging into your bed sheets before he's even at where you want him most. And God, when he finally kisses your pussy, you feel so worked up that you could cum just from that simple stimulation alone. When his tongue meets you it feels like heaven, your head falling back and an almost embarrassingly loud moan tumbling from your lips. 

Hyunjin starts licking you up slowly, almost teasingly, and you can't even complain; because even though you still want more, it's already so good. It's when he's done with his teasing and really gets going that you're left truly breathless– he pulls you closer to his face, to the point your ass is practically hanging off the bed, but he throws your legs over his shoulders, using his hands to hold you in place, right where he wants you against his mouth. 

Your whole body is trembling from the pleasure, and this position makes it so that your hips can't move unless he lets them. Even as you unconsciously twist and jolt from the pleasure, you're always firmly in place, unable to escape his tongue even if you wanted to. You cum almost embarrassingly fast like this, barely able to warn Hyunjin you're close before you're crying out in absolute bliss, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

You expect Hyunjin to set you down as you catch your breath, but that's the exact opposite of what happens; against all your expectations, he keeps going, his tongue sliding over and around your sensitive clit, drawing out your orgasm until the pleasure mixes with tingles of painful overstimulation. You stutter out a curse, loud whines and begs leaving you in a nearly unintelligible jumble– though you're not entirely sure if you're begging for him to stop or keep going.

His hands carefully move from your hips to squeeze the meat of your ass as he continues holding you where he wants you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from the unrelenting onslaught of pleasure. You're certain you're going to receive a noise complaint from your neighbors, unable to control your volume as another, more intense orgasm rocks your body. The tears lingering in the corners of your eyes fall as you cum once again, and you can hear and feel Hyunjin groaning against you, evidently taking just as much pleasure in this as you are. 

He's careful as he moves your trembling legs off his shoulders, helping you to fully rest your weight back on the bed. When he stands, he helps you get your head to the pillows before he's laying next to you, your sensitive body jolting once again when this time his fingers rub between your slick folds.

"How're you feeling, my love?" he asks, wanting to make sure he's not overwhelming you too much. You're definitely overwhelmed, but in the best way possible, and you stutter out a shaky "green," to which Hyunjin smiles.

"What a good, perfect girl you are," he praises you, pressing lingering kisses to tear-streaked cheeks, "My sweet thing, you're all for me, aren't you? A good girl just for me?"

You nod quickly, brain fuzzy with the desire to be anything he wants you to be. "'m a good girl, all for you Hyun, only you."

You have no idea how much those words affect him– and you're sure if your brain wasn't so foggy from the pleasure, you'd have noticed how he had to clench his teeth and take a breath to stop himself from pulling his cock out and fucking you into the mattress right that moment.

Patience, restraint, it's not the right time, he has to desperately remind himself.

Even as his fingers slide inside your heat and hug him tightly, he has to make a conscious effort not to lose himself in the thought of what you'd feel like hugging his cock instead. In all his years of lust, he's never been this close to losing control of himself; but fuck, he's never wanted someone as bad as he wants you, and you're so slick and warm and tight, it takes all he has to ignore the desperate throbbing of his cock. 

Hyunjin finds your spot within seconds, and your eyes are rolling back, fists once again straining and tugging against the sheets. He adds a third finger when you seem ready for it, pumping at a steady pace before he's curling his fingers into your spot again. He's at your neck again now, his teeth making contact with your skin just as they had before while his fingers continue their motion between your legs. 

When he bites this time, it feels different– rather than the dull pain and ache his teeth brought before, this feels more.. sharp? You let out a loud gasp as the sudden sharp feeling buries further into your neck, as if Hyunjin is a vampire digging his fangs into your skin.

Did he actually have fangs this whole time and you didn't notice..? No, that seems impossible- and honestly you feel too fucking good right now to even put much more thought into it. You're sure it just feels that way because now that he knows you're comfortable with the sting, he doesn't need to show anymore restraint when biting. He's simply putting more force into his bite now- that's all that makes sense.

He speeds up his fingers as his teeth sink further into your skin, his thumb firm on your clit, and it's enough to send you over the edge for a third time, your back arching off the bed as you let out a string of expletives and moans. 

Fuck. When Hyunjin pulls away, he knows he fucked up, quickly retracting his fangs before you can notice them; two holes now distinctly left in your skin. Unlike the hickies, that's not something you can simply hide with makeup, and when you look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow you'll definitely have questions about how the fuck he managed to do that with dull, human teeth. 

But when you look at him, absolutely blissed out and eyes hazy with pleasure, he decides that it's a problem for future Hyunjin; you're both already in the moment, and why ruin it now? He's still not quite done with you, after all; he's supposed to be relieving your stress like a good boyfriend. And what better way to relieve all your stress and tension than to make you cum again and again, until your body is as weak as jelly?

"Can you handle one more, lovely?" he asks, rubbing your cheek with his unoccupied hand. You lean into his touch, a soft smile on your face as you eagerly nod, ready to take all he wants to give you.

He returns the smile, planting a lingering kiss on your swollen, self-bitten lips, praising you once more. His hand trails down to your neck, fingers lingering on the surface while his other hand resumes its motion between your legs.

"Tell me how you feel, baby," Hyunjin instructs softly, and you look at him with glassy eyes, stuttering out your answer.

"Y-Yellow. Feels g-good, but 'm nervous," you say honestly and he coos and comforts you, assuring you he won't squeeze unless you want him too; for now, he'll just hold his hand in place, let you familiarize yourself with the pressure before you decide if you want anymore than that. 

Soon enough your eyes are rolling back once more, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he drives you close to orgasm just as expertly as he did each time before, letting yourself go completely as you become familiar and comfortable with his hand on your neck. You're babbling almost incoherently about how good it feels, but there's one thing in your string of words that he hears loud and clear, and that's "more."

"Want me to squeeze, lovely?" he asks, wanting to make 100% sure that he's not mistaken, and you nod quickly, repeating the word "squeeze" with a soft, pleading voice, followed by a string of "please, please, please."

You don't have to beg for a single thing when it comes to Hyunjin, but fuck, does he love hearing it more than he's ever loved anything. And so he does as you ask, gently of course, since it's your first time experiencing it.

Your body immediately reacts, gushing and clenching hard around his fingers as your mouth hangs open in a silent wail of pleasure, your last orgasm of the night hitting you like a semi-truck. Hyunjin slides his fingers out of you, planting soft kisses to your heated, sweat laden skin as you come down from the high.

He steps away just for a moment to bring you some water, helping you sit up enough to drink it before you fall back against the bed, body limp, utterly spent and exhausted.

"Hyun.. what about you..?" you ask in a sleepy voice, and Hyunjin chuckles softly, patting the top of your head after he wipes the sweat from your brows. "I'm good, baby, this was all for you. Feeling better now?"

You hum with a soft smile, curling into him and closing your heavy eyes. Hyunjin does his best to fix your nightgown and clean you up, once again chuckling when you start to softly snore after he manages to get you under the blankets.

As a demon, he doesn't need to sleep, but he lies next to you anyways, wrapping his arms around you and smiling as you snore into his chest. 

There's an anxiety that lingers in the back of his mind, the reality that come tomorrow you're going to see an abnormal mark on your neck and how he'll have to face what that means for your budding relationship.

Does he tell the truth? Would you even accept him if you knew? Humans hate and fear demons, and demons in turn aren't fond of humans, often the cause of a great multitude of their suffering.

Loving you was against everything he understood about himself, and in turn, loving him would be against what you understood about yourself. Hyunjin closes his eyes, and for the first time in centuries, he forces himself to take the sleep he doesn't need- because if this is where his relationship with you goes up in flames, then he wants the last good moment with you to be spent as human as he can possibly make it.

Unsurprisingly, Hyunjin is first to awake despite having fallen asleep after you. Even without the exhausting pleasure gauntlet he subjected your body to, he would’ve woken first regardless; as a being who doesn’t require sleep, he doesn’t stay in that state for nearly as long as a human does.

And even then it’s not a “true” sleep; it’s more like a meditative state, that surely did help give his mind and body rest, but was wholly unnecessary when it came to his ability to function. 

Given that he’s already forced the state once tonight, it’d be almost impossible to do so again as it’s simply not in his biology to do so. And despite himself, he still wants to linger; so he closes his eyes again, and though sleep does not return to him, he stays that way– holding you close, listening to your deep, slow breaths, his fingers lazily and softly tracing over your skin. 

The meditative state he’d been in for the last few, entirely too short hours did thankfully offer some much needed clarity to his racing mind. Hyunjin, grappling with the fact that he lost control of himself, carelessly (or maybe instinctively, unconsciously), bared his fangs to sink into your skin and mark you like a werewolf would his mate left him both ashamed and frightened for what would come next. 

It’s far from Hyunjin’s proudest moment, and never before has he had to grapple with the possibility of losing something important to him. There’s part of him that still doesn’t even fully understand why you’re important to him.

He’s a demon for fuck’s sake– demons don’t fall in love with humans, they manipulate humans to fall in love with them. They destroy human’s lives for fun, they take and ruin and feed until their prey is left with nothing, and then they move on to the next person. 

And Hyunjin knew he was different from a standard demon, not just in physiology and intelligence but also in the way he approached life, but it still baffled him to realize just how different he truly was.

He did the exact opposite of what other demons in the same position as him would have done; he could have charmed you for an easy fuck where you think you’re in love with despite the fact that he would've been a stranger, and it would’ve, ideally, been enough to satiate his need to have you. 

He could’ve avoided spendings months getting to know you, he could’ve manipulated you to suit his whims from the moment he formally met you instead of spending all his time to foster a real connection. He could’ve lied through his teeth at every moment, and while he certainly did lie, it was only ever necessary lies; he never, not even once, lied about something he felt or thought.

Every glimpse into his personality, ideals, likes and dislikes were all genuine. He could’ve just given you thoughtless answers that he thought you’d want to hear, never injecting his real self into the dynamic, but he didn't.

For reasons he couldn’t understand, he wanted you to love him– he thought at first it was simply because of his preferences whilst feeding, but now he knows it's more than that.

For reasons he can't understand, he wants you to love him, and not for some idealized man he crafted to meet your every need and preference. He wants you to love him for who he actually is as a person.

But.. he isn’t really a person; not in the way you are. Still, he followed that notion, and at every moment he was genuine; every look, every touch, every date and every gift– they were sincere admissions of a love he truly felt and wanted you to share, his proverbial heart being worn on his sleeve. 

It reached a point where lying to you ate away at him, but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do. In what reality did it make sense for him to confess that he’s a demon and for you to be okay with it?

And his mistake has forced him to confront that difficult truth much sooner than he had hoped to, has given root to the fear of rejection, loss, and unrequited love– human emotions he never expected to feel, that he thought he was incapable of feeling in the first place.

All he can do is pray that when he tells you the truth about who he is, you don’t turn away and rebuke him. And how ironic it is for him to pray for something– to want something so badly that all he can do is plead to the higher power he’s supposed to be against to grant him this selfish wish he doesn’t want to let go of.

Hyunjin has come to understand in his time with you that the relationship between humans and demons is more complex and codependent on his end than he would’ve initially given credence to. Maybe all it took to spark that epiphany was meeting the right person. 

And how foolish he is, to devote so much time and love to a being whose existence will only equate to a mere fraction of his own, who is fragile and weak and without lasting power.

Maybe if he’s lucky, when you are met with mortality your soul will find him in his domain in the second circle, where your sins will go unjudged and unpunished for as long as Hyunjin remains at the top, where your eternity of “atonement” can be spent with him, where he’ll regard you as a queen of equal standing. 

Dark fades to light with the rising of the sun, and still he keeps his eyes closed, as if preventing them from opening would also prevent the reality that is fast approaching from coming to pass.

Eventually, when the sun is high in the sky and brightly illuminating your room through your open blinds, he feels you stir, cautiously opening his eyes to the sight of you trying to blink away the sleepy fatigue that still maintains a grip on your senses. 

You offer him a soft, lazy smile as you wake further, clinging closer to him with a tight squeeze of your arms around his torso. How naturally you smile at him and hug him is both a soothing balm and cruel crutch that he knows will break the heart he isn’t even supposed to have when it is gone.

Thankfully, in your sleep-addled state you don’t recognize the looming dread that hangs over him, and he’s able to quickly shove it down to return your smile and plant a soft kiss to your face, reminding himself to enjoy his time with you while he still has it.

Pushing your hair out of your face as you wake up more, Hyunjin catches a glimpse at your neck, the speckled bruises and fading indents of his teeth becoming entirely visible. Well, all marks of his teeth were fading except for one– the two holes left behind from his fangs, the shameful evidence that he lost control of himself in a way he never had before.

Broken skin doesn’t mend in just a single night’s sleep, and he knew the moment you touched your neck or looked in the mirror you would know they were there and you would look at the mark, at him, with either fear, confusion, or disgust as you try to comprehend how his bite would cause such a thing.

“How’d you sleep, lovely?” Hyunjin decides to ask so his mind doesn’t dwell and linger on your neck.

“Good,” is all you say with a small, bashful smile, pink crawling over your features as you recall all Hyunjin did to and for you. Honestly, you can’t remember the last time you slept so deeply, and you don’t think you’ll ever forget that feeling of ultimate bliss as your eyes grew heavy and mind drifted off comfortably. 

“You make me so happy,” you follow up, tilting your head up to capture his lips in a soft, good morning kiss. “Want to make you happy too,” you whisper against his lips before kissing them again, and his heart squeezes almost painfully in his chest because he feels it– lust, passion, desire, love.

What starts as a small prick to his senses builds to an all encompassing tsunami the more you kiss him and entangle your limbs with his. Love, love, I love you, your soul radiates.

It’s all he’s ever wanted, all this time it’s what he’s been working towards and hoping for, and it shoots almost painful electricity throughout his every nerve ending. Overwhelming, consuming, too radiant and bright and pure to belong to a man such as him, who isn’t really a “man” at all, but an entity entirely undeserving of your grace. Selfish, desperate, shameful– he holds you as if he is none of those things, as if he doesn’t taint you just by loving you. 

You push Hyunjin so he’s flat on his back, rolling yourself on top of him, your hair tickling his skin as it falls over his face when you kiss him. His grip on your hips is tight, almost painfully so, but you welcome it.

He’s so fucking hungry for you, he craves you so, so bad, and you meet that hunger enthusiastically, your hands ghosting over his chest and down his stomach, making quick work of the shirt he slept in. 

You suppose taking the lead comes naturally to you once shyness and subtle insecurity is dealt with, but you’d easily concede control to Hyunjin again should he have the desire to once again make you pliant beneath him.

Your hips roll down onto his hardening cock, and the groan that escapes him makes your stomach flutter with countless butterflies. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth, sometimes tugging before soothing the bites with soft licks of his tongue.

The rest of your clothes come off in a blur– your nightgown practically ripped off of you by Hyunjin while you fumble with the tied knot of his sweatpants, both of you panting into each other’s mouths, every noise being muffled and swallowed.

Wrong, this is wrong, selfish, you’re wicked, deplorable, the back of Hyunjin’s mind screams at him in stark contrast to the way he desperately paws at you, lust and hunger casting a fog over his rationality. 

But when he opens his eyes as you pull back for a breath, his eyes instinctively travel back to your neck, the mark he left on your skin expounding upon his building guilt. He has to tell you now- before the guilt eats away at him entirely, before he loses control of himself again, before he does something else he’ll regret.

An almost guttural pained noise leaves his throat when you roll yourself down on him again, fingers digging into the swell of your hips, his now bare cock becoming slick with your essence. 

“Shit, fuck– wait, baby wait–” Hyunjin breathes out, the most ragged and strained you’ve ever heard his voice. He can feel your passion and desire become background to concern and doubt, can feel your anxiety spiking as you cease your movements.

Fuck, he feels so bad– but you have to know he’s not what you think he is, he won’t forgive himself if he doesn’t tell you now. “Listen, I–” Hyunjin starts, then swallows, and your eyes swim with care as you see him struggle, “I– your neck, its..” 

“Hyun, I wanted you to do it, don’t worry about that,” you tell him sweetly and softly, one of your hands grabbing his and rubbing soothing circles on it with your thumb.

His heart squeezes painfully once again, and he shakes his head, “That’s not it, I– ..just feel it, or look at it, or..” You furrow your brows in confusion but do as he asks of you, trailing your fingers carefully over all the spots you knew he bit and sucked your skin.

You don’t feel much, at first– just a tender skin where you assume bruises have formed, some extremely faint indents of teeth, but as you get closer to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, you feel it and your entire body freezes.

What.. is that..? You scramble to grab your phone from the nightstand, turning on the camera and flipping its view to see yourself, blinking as you try to process what you’re seeing reflected in the viewfinder. 

What the fuck? Slowly, in disbelief as your mind lags and struggles to compute with the reality of what you’ve seen, you lower your arm and let your phone fall from your hand. Are you dreaming?

You feel like you’ve been transported to one of those YA vampire romances you read in college for fun– but that’s impossible, isn’t it? Things like that aren’t real, are they? There’s no way you’ve been dating a supernatural being for months.

Your next thought is that this is an ill-timed prank, though you can rationally tell it isn’t. And Hyunjin’s hand that is still in yours.. You can feel it tremble with uncertainty and apprehension, his eyes relaying a deep seated fear of rejection and.. Guilt? Guilt for what? Do you even want to know the answer to that question? You assume it’s related to whatever this is, whatever he is, but.. what is that, exactly? 

Hesitantly, you ask him, wondering if this is really your teen fantasy Twilight moment– stark naked, sitting on the dick of a man who might not actually be “a man” at all. “You may not believe me if I tell you, but I can show you,” he says quietly whilst cautiously squeezing your hand.

“O-Okay.. sure,” you breathe out nervously, squeezing his hand back in support. Maybe this is a mistake, but seeing the utter anxiety he’s struggling with, you can’t help but empathize. 

If the roles were reversed, and you were an otherworldly being in a relationship with a human, would you be able to tell them? Wouldn’t you be scared of losing them if they knew the truth? And maybe you shouldn’t forgive him easily, regardless of what the truth ends up being, but you think you can understand what would drive him to keep such a deep secret.

You’re still fucking scared of whatever it is, if you’re being honest, but you don’t want to believe that the Hyunjin you know is anything but the sweet, perfect, gentle boyfriend you’ve known him as thus far. 

All you do is blink and instantly the Hyunjin before you is different, as if a veil that was covering your eyes has been lifted to reveal his truest self. His facial features and hair are the same, recognizably Hyunjin through and through, but his skin has changed from a natural, honeyed tone to a deep, scarlet red hue. His eyes, in turn, are no longer a dark, boba-like brown, but instead an unnatural crimson.

Long, pointed ears like an elf you’d see in a fantasy game or movie, horns the same color as his skin protruding from the top of his head, curving gently until they point straight up. You can just barely see the points of his fangs between his parted lips, can see bat-like wings struggling to fit beneath him on the bed, as well a long, slender tail with an upside down heart as its tip.

And his body, which was already warm, now feels almost impossibly hot, as if he has a dangerous fever coursing through him, with his nails now more like claws in their length and pointed edge.  

He’s.. still so beautiful..? You weren’t sure what kind of change you were expecting, and you still don’t entirely understand what he is, but he’s undeniably just as gorgeous now as when he was presenting himself as human. His form is reminiscent of the beauty found in the work of Gustave Doré, whose art Hyunjin had once praised and talked at length about; ethereal, otherworldly, mesmerizing–

Wait. Something clicks– the rumors of your apartment being haunted by a demonic entity before you moved in that you disregarded and didn’t believe in. The times you’d wake up from sleep and notice something had been moved, always slightly off from how you’d left it. 

The presence you’d sometimes feel despite being alone, the sensation of being watched that sometimes lingered, but always seemed to go away when Hyunjin was at your apartment. His extensive knowledge of art and history that felt as if he lived through the era rather than just having read about it, his fluency in latin that goes beyond mere college study..

You’re in love with a demon. And you suspect that he’s known you for longer than you’ve known him.

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to lie to you,” Hyunjin breathes nervously after he sees understanding flash in your eyes as you put the pieces of his identity together. “I just, I.. became so utterly, impossibly infatuated by you. But I couldn’t just.. show myself, even if I wanted to. And I– I wanted you to know me, because I love you more than I ever thought was possible for someone like me.”

It’s hard to say whether or not you’ve been manipulated and misled to trust him, but you do, even if you shouldn’t. You’ll have to hope that God will forgive you for the sacrilege you’re about to commit.

Squeezing his hand in a display of acceptance, leaning down to kiss him once more in a promise of love regardless of the truth you’ve been shown, dedication to an act entirely unholy.

But if Hyunjin is what will be waiting for you in hell when you die, maybe damning your soul there isn’t so bad.

You feel him positively melt with relief, soft apologies from him and acceptances from you rolling off the tongue. “Promise me this is the only lie, promise this is the only secret, and I’ll forgive you,” you breathe and he affirms without hesitation, enduring promises of true love and honesty pouring from his lips.

“We can even make it a pact if you want,” he says after a string of promises, and you shake your head with a slight smile. 

If what you’re led to believe from media is true, if Hyunjin made a pact with you in which his end of the deal is to never lie to you, he’d suffer grave consequences for breaking it. “I’m choosing to trust you without that, so don’t break it, okay?”

Hyunjin nods with a smile before you’re kissing once more, his arms wrapping around you and hugging you tight to his impossibly hot skin. 

When your tongue enters his mouth, you curiously explore the point and feel of his fangs, and when he nips at your lips, the sharp point very nearly draws blood with each bite, the subtle pain utterly intoxicating. It’s not long before your lips end up swollen and bitten red, your tongues continuing to swirl and move together, your hands fervent in their exploration and demand to feel. 

Soon enough, he’s flipping your positions, your back now against the mattress with Hyunjin pushing himself between your legs, his mouth trailing gently over the marks he left the previous night. He sucks over the skin once more, deepening the bruises he’s already left behind, brightening them in color. It aches, and yet you tilt your head to the side to make his task easier, feeling him smile against your skin as his fangs poke at your sensitive skin.

He doesn’t bite down, not like he did last night– he doesn’t want to hurt you too much. Instead, his teeth scrape and taunt, the feeling of them enough to have you whining even without the bite. When he pulls away to look at you, your eyes are already pleasantly glazing over in a lustful haze, and seeing his fangs when he smiles confidently down at you makes you dizzy. He’s so fucking beautiful, sexy- it’s going to drive you crazy one of these days.

You jump slightly in surprise when you feel his tail slinking up your leg, wrapping around and hugging your thigh. And it’s when you look down to see how his tail looks wrapped around you that you finally catch a glimpse of his impossibly hard and leaking cock, so unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

It’s big– much bigger than you imagine a human could ever compare, and just as deep and supernaturally red as the rest of him. You’re practically drooling at the sight, at the thought of having it in your mouth– would he taste the same as a human, or would his essence be entirely unique?

Hyunjin has to hesitate from smirking when he sees you blatantly staring and curiously, hungrily licking your lips, the increased lust from seeing his cock spilling from you in droves. “You want a taste, lovely?” he asks with a charismatic, almost mischievous tilt of the head, his grin growing when you nod eagerly.

“C’mon then, love, ‘s all yours,” he says while uncurling his tail from around your thigh, standing up and letting you come meet him at the edge of the bed. You tentatively reach out to touch his cock, and fuck, it’s so heavy in your hands.

Your hands look so small wrapped around him, your fingers unable to wrap entirely around his girth, and while usually both your hands are enough to cover the entire length of a cock up to its tip, Hyunjin still has much more than just the tip poking through. 

Long, thick, big, you’re not sure how it’ll fit in your mouth, much less your pussy– but you’re not a quitter. You start with kisses that turn into kitten licks as you rub up and down his length with both hands, looking up at Hyunjin through your lashes, eager for a reaction, for praise.

He brings a hand to the back of your head, waiting for you to open your mouth for him. He carefully guides and urges you to take more and more of him in, until the tip is touching the back of your throat. It takes everything in you not to gag and choke, your eyes brimming with tears as you breathe through your nose.

“That’s it, what a good girl, taking so much of me,” Hyunjin pets your head as he praises you, and he can see you pressing your thighs together, squirming and desperate to hear more. You want to take all of him in your mouth, but you recognize that’s an impossibility- so you settle for pumping what you can’t fit in your mouth with your hands, doing your best to match the pace of your hands with the bobbing of your head. 

Hyunjin’s soft, breathy moans fuel you, his fingers tangling in your hair as he begins to take control of the rhythm. You let out a squeak of surprise when you feel his tail snake between your legs, gasping when you feel the tip of his tail teasing your clit.

“‘s good? You like that?” Hyunjin asks when you moan around his cock, another smirk gracing his beautiful, perfect face when you quickly nod. 

The combination of his cock down your throat and his tail rubbing your clit makes you dizzy, the pace of your hands faltering as your thighs twitch and tremble. Eventually, your hands drop to your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you let him play with your clit and use your mouth, tears falling as he holds your head while rolling his hips and making you take as much as you can handle. 

Determined now to make you cum while his cock is deep in your throat, he moves one of his hands to your chest, tweaking and pulling at one of your nipples, earning a muffled whine as your eyes squeeze shut.

Your hands, no longer curled into desperate fists, now cling to his thighs, your nails digging into his skin as you cry and whimper. Hyunjin is relentless on all fronts– from the pace he fucks your mouth, to the flicking of his tail against your clit, to the way he pinches and tugs on your nipples. 

“Gonna cum just like this, aren’t you, lovely? Go ahead baby, let go and show me how good you feel.” With Hyunjin’s permission, and a few more quick flicks of his tail against your clit, you’re cumming with a loud, but muffled cry, your nails failing to break the skin of his thighs despite how harsh you claw at him.

You suck in a deep breath when he pulls out of your mouth, your chest heaving as you come down from your high and air returns to your lungs. Hyunjin showers you in more praise as he wipes the tears away from your eyes with his thumbs, subsequently leaving a lingering trail of kisses to your cheeks where they streaked your skin. 

He guides you to lay back down on the bed, planting sweet kisses to your lips once you’ve finished catching your breath. You can feel his cock, wet and still impossibly heavy, between your legs, and you want it in you now.

“Hyun,” you start, a pout gracing your lips as you prepare yourself to shamelessly beg, “want you so bad, please, please, fuck me, I need it.”

You can feel his cock unceremoniously twitch at your pleas, a groan leaving his throat at your desperate tone. “You don’t have to beg, my love, I’ll give you anything you want,” Hyunjin says as he rubs his fingers between your folds, feeling how slick you’ve gotten for him.

Truthfully, he should prep you more first, but you’re both so fucking needy for each other, and he’ll just have to hope that fingering you last night and making you cum again since then will be good enough. 

He kisses you and lets you squeeze his hand as he pushes inside, the stretch so much more intense than anything you’ve ever felt, so full that your eyes are rolling back before he’s even thrusting his hips.

It aches, it stings, but it’s also the most addictive pleasure you’ve ever experienced. You want all he has to give you, more and more, until you can feel and think of nothing but him. 

Hyunjin holds one of your legs, his tail once again wrapping around the thigh of the other, this time using it to keep you spread and open for him, allowing him to sink as deep as he possibly can. “Fuck, baby–” Hyunjin groans once he’s sheathed fully inside, your walls so wet and hot and squeezing him impossibly tight, “needed this, needed you so fucking bad, you have no idea.” 

“You too, needed you too Hyun, so bad,” you mirror his sentiment between gaspy moans and shaky whines when he finally starts pulling out, pushing back in one swift and fluid motion, building a quick, desperate pace. Despite the desperation however, his pace is far from sloppy– every thrust is precise, leaving you arching your back as your cries grow in volume, your nails digging harshly into his forearms. 

When he knows you can handle it, he fucks into your faster, capturing your mouth in messy, open kisses, your saliva mixing and pooling until it drips from the corners of your mouth. His grip on your thigh tightens, his fingers sure to leave bruises behind in their wake.

Sweat drips from his brow, sometimes falling to your cheeks, and God, the sight is utterly mesmerizing– even as sweat drips down his face and sticks his hair to his forehead, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

And again he feels it, the utter love and trust pouring forth from your soul, radiant and perhaps undeserving to be felt by him, but it exists all for him nonetheless. His head drops to your shoulder, every emotion that he feels spilling from you driving him further and further into bliss, his pleasured moans dancing in your ears.

“Tell me, please, fuck, please tell me–” Hyunjin practically whines, his nails now digging into the meat of your thighs as he fucks you harder. Tell him? Tell him what? Somehow, you think you know what he wants to hear, because it’s the very same thing that you want to hear too.

“Love you, I love you, lov– fuck, love you so much,” you breathlessly spill the words between moans, and you hear Hyunjin keen, pleasure erupting from every nerve ending, the wave of love that you exude enough to drown him completely.

“Lovely, my love, I love you, I’m gonna– fuck, ‘m gonna cum, tell me again,” Hyunjin pleads, desperate and urgent, his cock throbbing and twitching as he approaches his own high. 

You do just as he asks, stuttering out endless “I love you”s until you’re both cumming hard, a blissful intensity that steals your breaths away and leaves your bodies shaking. His cum shoots inside you in long spurts, filling you to the brim, so much so that it spills out of you even with his cock still firmly pressed inside you.

“Mine,” Hyunjin mutters as he kisses you, passionate and deep, no longer sloppy and desperate as it was in the throes of his orgasm, “my love, just mine, aren’t you?” 

“Just yours, all yours,” you say, and he knows you’re telling the truth, can feel it with every fiber of his being that you mean it sincerely. It was surreal, realizing the truth about your boyfriend and loving him regardless of who he is and how he truly appears, but you don’t regret it.

He cleans you up diligently, he helps you get dressed and makes you breakfast, he showers you in kisses and endless praise just as he always does throughout the rest of your day.

Because even though he may appear different to you now, he’s still the same Hyunjin you met; the one who dotes on you endlessly, who takes care of you sweetly, who spends hours talking and cuddling and listening to every thought you have.

Though you can’t explicitly read emotion the way he can, you always know what he’s thinking and feeling– because with you he’s transparent, with nothing to hide, and only love and tenderness to give. 

Maybe it’s wrong for a human and demon to be in love, but you like to think this is the happiness you were meant to have, that this is where you’re supposed to be– right by Hyunjin’s side, until your final breath and then in eternity, a love that transcends your human mortality.

If there is one thing you are certain of, it is that spending forever with Hyunjin will bring you a love you’ll feel eternally– warm, gentle, and true.

[kaysungshine]

Redamancy: Part II ['red-a-man-sE] noun ;a love returned in full

(If you haven't read part one, you definitely should!)

{ Pairing } - idol!bangchan x staff!afab.reader (bestie!jisung)

{ Genre } - NSFW; s/a/f trifecta, now friends to enemies to lovers, pining

{ Synopsis } - Things are awkward now, you're avoiding each other. In fact you distanced yourself from the entire group. What happens when Ji confronts you? What happens when Chan does a 180 and tries to befriend you? And what happens when Chan finally has you alone in his room?

{ WC } - 14.3k (I am so sorry 🥺) + 2 screenshots

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, lowkey POV switch , lots and lots of angst, eventual smut & fluff, swearing, use of babygirl, multiple nicknames for members, choking, drinking, bestie jisung crying, hyunjin being a logical romantic, y/n being a little toxic but learning from it, they're honestly both a lotta stupid, oral(f. receiving), dry humping, hickeys and bruising, questionable breath play (please research if you plan on doing this, do it safely), chans nipples are sensitive, he's just sensitive in general with y/n, fingering, needy chan, members teasing, talk of edging, talk of bdsm, these two are VOCAL as hell, so lots of moaning, groaning, whining, whimpering, mewling, and dirty talk during sex, unprotected sex (piv), pull out method (again don't do this, practise safe sex), much cringe, much awkward, but they overcome it (LMK if I forgot any, I'm sorry)

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - Alright almost a month later, and I finally finished part two!! Please don't hate meeee, I beg your forgiveness, please. It took me a while because I just couldn't stop writing and adding things. Editing also took FOREVER, because I wasn't confident that it would satisfy you guys. I'm still not sure. So I apologize if this didn't live up to your expectations, again, please be gentle with me ♡. Understand that this is only my 2nd SKZ fic, so I'm still learning about how to portray each character, and how to piece things together seamlessly!

Chan was starting to worry. It had been almost two weeks and he still hadn't seen you, nor heard from you. It wasn't like you two really spoke outside of questioning the other about Jisungs' whereabouts. There were the occasional texts, again about Jisung. He didn't know what to say to you to begin with. Apologize? He already did that, and it only seemed to make you more upset. But that was in the moment, and both your emotions were on overdrive. 

The other members were starting to notice your absence, questioning Han about it. Asking if you were okay. You'd even started avoiding all the public areas at the building. No one was even sure if you were eating during the day, or there at all. You didn't go to the cafeteria, break rooms, or practise rooms. No one caught you in the lounge areas, elevator, or the stairwell. No one even saw you coming into or leaving the building. It was to the point where Hyunjin was nearly planning steakout missions with Jisung. And poor Ji. He only got to see you twice since that night. A drastic decrease in comparison to how often he usually spends time with you. Chan only knew that because he overheard him talking to Minho about it. That was all he heard before Han noticed him standing there, and left for his room, sending him a spine chilling glare along the way. 

And Chan knew it really was all his fault when Minho just gave him a curiously sad look, and patted him on the shoulder. You obviously said something to Han, who said something to Minho. He wonders who else knows how bad he messed up. 

He was racking his brain trying to figure out how to fix this. Never in a million years had he thought he'd actually get a chance to experience such a quintessential moment with you. He'd liked you for so long, it was starting to turn into more than that. Ever since he'd seen you helping a new trainee navigate the building, he grew interested in your kind heart first and foremost. He's sure he's been through all the emotions. Excitement, because you started hanging around with them and you fell right into the dynamic so easily. Anxiety, because he didn't know how to approach you at first. Jealousy, when Han got all of the attention from you. Anger, when he thought you and Han started dating secretly. Embarrassment, when he realized how wrong he was. Hope, when you two shared a hug, even though it was a very awkward hug. Despondent, when he still couldn't figure out how to act around you, letting whatever growing friendship you two had begun, stall. And now regretful. But not regret for kissing you, touching you, or nearly fucking you. No, regret that he had stopped. 

Such a beautiful moment, where he was truly lost in bliss. And he halted it. He let his anxiety get to him, his internal conflict wouldn't shut up.

He truly was worried about the technicality of it all. The rules, the company, the media, the fans. Worst of all, you would receive the brunt of it. He didn't know how to protect you from it all. He was constantly going back and forth in his head. How could he make it work? Would you even want to make it work? Did you even like him? What did you think about him exactly? 

He wasn't blind. Every once in a while he'd catch your eyes on him for a little too long. Any 'accidental' physical contact you had with him would linger. And he knew there was a certain smile you'd reserved just for him. Not to mention, you were always the first to reach out directly, and make conversation with him. He was always too afraid to. He felt like a coward. And when he finally had the courage to make a move, a bold move, a ravenous move... His ego suddenly deflated when he realized his actions could be taken the wrong way.

He panicked.

He doesn't want you to think that he just wants sex from you. That you're just a fling. A one night stand. A hookup. No he wanted to do it the right way. He wanted to take you on a date, he wanted to learn more about you, to meet your friends. He wanted you to meet his family, to meet Berry. He even fantasized about planning a special date to ask you to be his girlfriend. He fantasized about anniversaries, about holidays spent together, a life spent together. He wanted to give you the world. He fell for you hard. And in that moment, he felt like he was doing it all backwards. So he stopped. It nearly killed him, but he stopped. And he should've done anything, quite literally anything else but stop.

When he saw the spark in your eyes dimming, only to be replaced with apprehension. He immediately apologized, and spat out a quick blurb about being inappropriate. 

Your entire face just sunk, and he shut down. There was nothing more he could say about it, not in that moment. And he felt even worse when you said you understood, but he didn't let it show. You didn't understand, not really. There was no way in hell you could, and he desperately wanted to just spill everything that second. But he wanted to be sober, wanted you to be sober, so instead he told you to drink water. And go to bed. 

What the hell was wrong with him. 

He even made sure to wake up early the next morning, anticipating to somehow get the chance to talk to you. When you came running down the hall, he was sure that it was fate. The chance that you two had alone time this early was perfect. He had hoped that this would all be sorted out. If he confessed, maybe you would too. Then he could explain last night, and you two could talk about it. And if it didn't work out like that, at the very least he could try to preserve your friendship. It would be painful to remain just friends, but he didn't want you out of his life. He couldn't imagine that. He doesn’t think he could handle that. After he greeted you, he noticed your eyes had tears in them. You were starting to hyperventilate, and tremble. 

Then you were leaving. 

Even though he's come up with world class lyrics, he seemed to be failing with his words lately. He didn't ask if you were okay, or what was wrong, or breach the topic that was clearly needing clarification. No, instead, he followed up with asking if you wanted breakfast. 

You didn't even look at him. The tone of your voice was glacial, freezing him right to the spot. He'd never heard you sound like that. He just stood there, watching the door close. Listening to your car start, listening to you drive off. And then he stood there more, afraid to move. 

When Jisung came running out 15 minutes later, he was still standing there. Han saw your things were gone, and knew that you left. Chan only decided to move when Han uttered five angry words to him. 

'You really fucked up, Chan.'

He knew he did. And he didn't know where to begin to fix it...

"--Channie-hyung!" 

He whipped his head up, and found Jeongin snapping his fingers in front of face, trying to get his attention. 

They'd been at dance practice, taking a break. He only then realized that he'd zoned out the entire time, not eating, not grabbing water, not even sitting down. Just recounting his mistakes, and dwelling on them. Now it was time to get back to work. 

Jeongin was giving him a strange look, but he didn't dare question him. In addition to messing things up with you, he'd been too on edge. Snapping at one too many people. He didn't want to risk Chan blowing up on him next.

"Where's Hannie and Hyune?" Chan questions.

"Probably still in the cafeteria..." Minho responds, giving him a knowing look. 

Minho was the one keeping both him and Han in check at the moment. He felt bad for forcing him into a position like that, considering he was Chan's younger member. Even if it's just one year. Having to be a mediator daily between his two brothers, he knew it must've taken a toll on him. But he never complained, and Chan was grateful nonetheless. 

Chan nodded, and went to grab water from his bag. As he was chugging it, Jisung came into the room and went straight to Minho. Furiously whispering at him, pushing his hair back. Hyunjin trailed in not long after, his eyes darted to Chan, but looked away quickly. 

"What's going on?" Seungmin asked.

Minho just put his hand up to him, and the younger one scoffed. He turned to Felix, "The hyungs are acting fucking weird lately." 

Felix hummed in agreement, as he continued massaging Changbin. 

"Aye, I don't know what's going on either, don't group me in." Changbin grunted.

Chan hesitantly approached the bickering pair, and the look Minho now gave him was one of warning. But it was too late. 

"It's all your fault." Han spat at him. 

"Excuse me?" He bit back, not expecting such an outburst from him.

Hyunjin quickly jumped up to try and get between them and explain, "We saw y/n in the cafeteria toda-"

"She isn't coming over this weekend again. And she's not letting me over to hers either. She wants to be alone. I wonder why." Han interrupts, crossing his arms.

The room was eerily quiet. Everyone knew something was up, that much was obvious. The fact that Han was slightly vague though, it gives Chan the idea that the exact details remain relatively private. 

"Is she still here?" Chan whispers through clenched teeth, holding fierce eye contact with Han, but he's getting more daring.

"She's about to leave. YOU," Han pointed to Chan, poking his finger right into his chest, "need to figure your shit out, and stop playing around. Fix. It."

"HAN JISUNG." Minho yells sternly, "You need to stop being so disrespectful. No matter the situation, remember who you're talking to. Let's take a walk." 

He drags Han out of the room, and down the hall.

Chan was left standing there, ears burning and fists trembling at his sides. It was safe to say practice was done early for the day. So he quickly dismissed everyone, and was the first to leave.

He found himself searching for you throughout the building, with no luck. Until the elevator doors opened, he stepped on with his head hung down. So consumed in his own thoughts again, he didn't realize the other person at first. 

When he lifted his head to finally greet them, he was faced with you. You refused to even look at his way, choosing to face straight forward at the exit. 

"Y/n..." He managed to croak out, weakly. 

Silence, still. As soon as the doors opened, you rushed out. He was stuck standing there again. 

It was early Friday night, and you were already wrapped in the blankets on your bed. Aimlessly scrolling and tapping on tiktok, not even really paying attention to any of the videos. 

You weren't used to spending this much time alone, not anymore. You wanted to go see the people who you realized felt like home to you, especially in this foreign country. But you didn't want to deal with the fallout of the oldest. Jiji did beg to come over... You'd been missing him so much. You'd been missing everyone so much, even your co-workers.

Most of the work you do can be done from home, on your personal pc or work laptop. The majority of your co-workers had periods of time where they wouldn't set foot into the building for weeks at a time. You knew it wouldn't be weird to them if you worked from home for a while. So you've been opting to do that, only going into the building if you absolutely needed to.

Until today that is. At nearly 4 in the morning you were cc'd on multiple emails. The constant dinging woke you up. There was a huge issue with a group's new M/V. Footage was corrupted, drafts were deleted, and it had already passed the deadline. They needed all hands on deck. You were in such a rush to come in, you didn't bring any food or drinks with you. You had arrived about an hour after receiving the email, so by the time afternoon rolled around, you needed to get something in your system. Thankfully the major issues had been solved, but now came the fine tuning. You could finish up at home, but truthfully you missed being out and about. Even if it was just at work.

You reluctantly made your way down to the cafeteria, thinking you'd be safe because you know SKZ's schedule for today. You knew they'd be in dance practice. Oh how surprised you were when Jisung nearly tackled you to the ground. He was on you as soon as you came down the stairs to the main level. Your heart hurts when you see the glossy look in his eyes, paired with sadness. Hyunjin was right next to him, trying to pry him off of you and avoid a scene. Instead you pulled him into a group hug, which he eventually accepted, wrapping his arms around the both of you. 

They both badgered you with questions. Asking where you'd been, what happened, if you were mad at them. You were honest with them, and nearly broke down again. You weren't okay. You were hurt, and angry. But you assured them that you weren't angry with any of them, besides one obviously. And even though Jiji didn't bring up Chan exactly, or that night, you did. You started ranting about how stupid you felt for what happened. You've been holding it all in for the longest time, the words were rolling off your tongue effortlessly. 

You could see that at first, Hyunjin was a little shocked and confused. Possibly embarrassed judging by his pink tinted cheeks. But he held your other hand, that Ji wasn't holding, supporting you either way. You couldn't begin to express your appreciation. You'd half expected all the members to know exactly what happened. You also figured they'd side with Chan, and be upset at you for cutting off all contact basically. Considering Hyunjin didn't know what happened, you knew that wasn't the case. Relief washed over you slightly. 

It would be better if less people knew, less people to pick sides. In the grand scheme of things, this was only really between two people. There was no need to involve anyone else directly. On top of that, you'd never ask any of them to pick your side, not only because you know where you'd stand compared to their leader. You also wanted to avoid negative drama, and any arguments that might start with them.

Jisung begged you to come over tonight. Said that they would figure it out, that he would take you to his room even. He tried to make you laugh saying he'd even hang a sign saying 'no Chan's allowed' on his door. But you refused, not wanting to create uneasy tension, or make anyone feel uncomfortable in their own home. 

He then offered to come over and have a night just the two of you, and as tempting as it was, you found yourself wanting to be alone. Your go to method for self soothing was always solitude, even if it wasn't always healthy. 

You could see him deflating the more you denied his offers to spend time together. The anxiety was growing in his eyes. Knowing him, he was fearing that this was the end of your friendship. That simply could never happen.

'Give me just a few more days, and I'll be over it all. I'll be back to normal.'

That's what you told him, but you didn't even know if that was true. Regardless, you refused to lose your best friend over a situation like this.

One thing's for sure, you need to stop isolating. It wasn't helping as much as you convinced yourself it would. Just as you were debating texting Ji that you changed your mind, and to come over. Your phone chimed, and it was Jiji, he texted you first.

You threw the blankets off, opting to keep on your pajama shorts instead of changing. You slid a hoodie on over your cami though, because you refused to put a bra on. 

They're your friends and you know they'd never judge you or your home. Still you tidied up the take out containers, cups, and cans left in your kitchen and living room. You folded your throw blankets, and fluffed up the pillows on your couch. You quickly picked up the clothes strewn across your apartment, and threw them into your room. You'd deal with the laundry later. Lastly, you went to take the garbage out, and as you turned to go back inside, a car drove up and Ji hopped out. He was in a hoodie, with the hood pulled up. He also wore sunglasses, and a black mask. 

"Y/nie!" Ji said and ran up to hug you.

"Long time no see." You joke, wrapping your arms around him. 

Hyunjin was also semi disguising himself, also in a hoodie. He had a baseball cap on, with his hood also up. He covered his eyes with the visor, and wore a black mask as well. He sent off the driver with a thank you and wave.

"Don't tease. It's been an excruciating amount of time. I need to recharge." He said squeezing you tighter.

"Hey y/n." Hyunjin walked up next, carrying bags full of goodies. 

"Hey! Come on, give me those, let's get inside." 

After you lead them in, you guys get comfy in the living room. They brought drinks, and loads of snacks and candy. In no time, you fell into that familiar and comfortable groove of your usual weekend shenanigans. Just a smaller circle this time.

"So," Ji started with his cheeks full of cheesecake, "I got in trouble with Minho." 

"How?!" You giggled. 

"I think Minho saved you actually, the way Chan was looking at you? He needed to get you out of there, you were NOT giving it up." Hyune said. 

"Wait, what happened?" You sat up more, worried now. 

"Tchh, he wouldn't have laid a finger on me." He tried to act confidently, but the way he rubbed his hands together told a different story.

"You guys fought?!" You gasped.

When Ji said nothing, and avoided your eyes, Hyune decided to speak up.

"They've been fighting. Mostly silently. You know, avoiding each other, sending the other looks and glares. But some days Hannie can't keep his mouth shut."

You gave Ji a stern look, and he just swallowed his cake.

"Anyways," Ji said, clearly trying to get the subject off of Chan, "Minho was so angry with me. I got scolded so much, I nearly cried."

"Well, yelling at Chan in front of the entire group probably wasn't the smartest thing to do..." Hyune mumbled.

Suddenly, concern washed over you. Surprisingly for Chan. You couldn't help it when the words just slipped out.

"So... how is Chan?" You attempted to sound nonchalant, stuffing your mouth with a brownie immediately afterwards.

They were both staring at you, unsure of how to answer. 

"He's... tense. I get something clearly happened between you two, but I don't know exactly what's up. He seems angry, and lashes out at people verbally... But he's sad too, he's been attempting to hide away from everyone too." Hyune says. 

"He has no reason to be angry." Ji snaps.

"Ji..." You say, "You should stop being so hostile to him. He didn't do anything to you..." 

Damn that soft spot in your heart, even when you've been completely devastated by him, you're sitting here defending him. 

He gave you the stern look now, "No. But he did something to hurt you. He's acting like a god damn fuck boy, and I always knew him to be better than that. I've never seen you like this! He made you stop visiting us, you even stopped talking to me throughout the day. He created a divide. And I'm sorry to be selfish, but whether or not it was done to me, it still affected me too!"

The anguish in his voice shot through your chest, creating that god awful sinking feeling. He was right, but still... it wasn't only Chan that held the blame. You were guilty of your own actions. You never should've pushed any of them away, especially Hanji.

"Okay, I have to ask. What the hell happened, it seems like he did something really bad." Hyunjin finally asked, worry written all over his face.

Ji refused to look up from his cheesecake, he was now just mashing it up angrily on his plate. 

"I like Chan." You blurted out, "Well, I liked him. I still like him? I'm trying to get over him though. But it's proving to be more difficult than I thought, so maybe it's more than me just having a crush. I don't know. It feels ridiculous to have such big emotions towards him, considering we struggle to even hold a conversation. I know nothing substantial about him, and I'm sure it's vice-versa. But the last time I was over... We ended up... halfway hooking up in the hall? But he stopped. And he looked at me like I was crazy. Like he forgot who I was, and like... like he was disgusted that it was me he was touching." You started rambling now. 

"And I mean I get it. I'm me, nothing special. We were drunk, and I'm sure with the way we were feeling, it could've just been chalked up to hormones on overdrive. But... I really thought he was reciprocating my feelings. I feel so stupid, to put that much value into sex. It's just sex. And it didn't even happen! I don't know. It just hurt, it still hurts. The regret in his eyes, that stung so bad. Because I didn't regret it, fuck, I don't regret it... I'm just so angry. I can't seem to move on from this."

They both sat listening to you, as tears began to well in your eyes. Ji pulled you into him, your head resting on his chest. Your arm rested on top of his stomach, the other sliding between his back and the couch. He was carding his fingers through your hair, and scratching your scalp lightly, like he knew you liked.

"Stop talking down on yourself. I don't like seeing you tear yourself down with lies." Ji mumbled.

"I'm sorry you're going through this... Have you two... talked at all?" Hyunjin asked.

"No. I'm trying to avoid that. I already got my heart ripped out once, I don't want to go through it again." You nearly sobbed, thinking back to how he approached you in the elevator. All he said was your name, but his voice was filled with such strong emotions that you couldn't decipher. You'd just assumed it was still regret, and ran out of there as fast as you could. 

Hyunjin rubbed your knee comfortingly, "But maybe talking would help... I'm not trying to make excuses for him. He should've spoken up at that point, offered some sort of explanation or reassurance, something. That's on him for not opening his mouth, you'd obviously be confused about the whole thing. I don't know if you're interested in fixing things and talking it out, or even remaining friends with him. Regardless, I feel like some sort of closure would help you and help him. And unfortunately that does involve talking it out."

You nodded your head, "It probably would, but I don't feel like I'm ready. You didn't see his eyes. I can't handle it if he looks at me like that again." You whispered the next sentence, "I don't want anyone to look at me that way again. "

"I don't think Chan would ever be disgusted by you, I mean judging by the looks some of us have caught him giving you. He definitely finds you attractive, as he should." He smirked, making you give a breathy laugh through the tears, "Frankly, I'm shocked that you were even interested in him. I mean have you seen me?" He gestured to his face dramatically, turning from side to side and gave a few poses.

You and Ji both chuckled at him.

 "Or Felix? Even Innie lately is growing more into his features! Why not one of us?!" He nudged your leg with a laugh.

"HEY! If anyone gets to date my Jagi, it's obviously me. We'll be two hot, married best friends who suffer in abstinence, because we can't bring ourselves to consummate the marriage." Ji suddenly slurs, holding onto you tighter. 

Yeah, he was a little too quiet there for too long, the alcohol must've hit him.

You burst out laughing, and shove him away from you, "Gross Jiji!" 

"And thank you Hyune, but I feel like that can't be true. Even if he has checked me out, that's superficial. I mean we're human, we can feel a basic level of attraction to someone we see for only 2 seconds, and never get to see them again. When I say I like him, it's more than just a physical relationship. I know it's illogical, for so many reasons. Like I said, I barely even know him. There's been no attempt to even get on the same level, like how I know the rest of you. We barely talked, we had that huge argument, and he's always kept some distance from me... there's always been a detachment. So for me to want to be with him, even after all the signs of him wanting nothing to do with me? It's insane. He could never want that, could never want me. Not beyond a quick fuck apparently. And he couldn't even go through with that..."

You know you're starting to sound repetitive and bitter, and a little pathetic. But damn it, this hurts. And these thoughts were consuming your mind in a vicious continual cycle. 

Hyunjin just hummed, neither agreeing or disagreeing, "You know you can't help emotions y/n, they're borderline instinctual. Especially love, and I'm not saying you're in love with him, but to care for someone? That passion? It's got to count for some kind of love. It's such a powerful feeling, we have no control over it, it's humorlessly funny like that." 

You were listening to him talk intently, he was so poetic. Maybe it was the fact you were a little tipsy, but you were thinking that he should write more songs. More love songs specifically. 

"If we could control it, there'd be much less heartbreak in the world I think. Unrequited love wouldn't exist... With that in mind though, there'd be a lot less love overall. I mean think about it, love almost always comes with some sort of eventual pain. There'd be many people who'd just opt out altogether..." He paused for a moment before continuing, "And never discount things as impossible, everything is possible. I'm not saying this to try to give you hope or destroy your hope. I'm not saying this to persuade you either. I'm just saying sometimes things aren't so black and white. Grey exists too, and it's a pretty beautiful shade if you ask me. I think you should talk to him about it." He finished

You nodded and offered a smile, "Maybe I should, and thank you."

You gestured for him to join you and Ji on the couch, and he rested against you. His head on your shoulder, creating a momentary cuddle pile, with you sandwiched in the middle.

You were so grateful to these boys, helping to piece you back together when you felt so broken. And over something seemingly insignificant to most. Ji was physically comforting you, and Hyune was comforting you mentally and emotionally. He just seemed to understand the world on a different level, able to see perspectives that might not always be clear to most. His mind was a beautiful place, and you felt honored that he let you in. You both formed a special bond tonight, similar yet completely different to you and Ji.

And, oh Ji... he wasn't getting off scot free.

"And you," You looked up to Ji, who was looking down at you wide eyed, "You need to apologize for your behavior with Chan. I understand you want to protect me, and I love you for that. Immensely. But he's your leader. He's done and sacrificed so much for you and your members. I'm sure no one knows what's going through his head. Stop giving him such a hard time... I'll figure out a solution with him eventually... even if it's just practicing being civil with each other. For now, try not to take things out on him. I'm sorry I stopped coming around. That fault lies completely on me, and it was petty. I won't avoid anyone anymore, so promise me you'll apologize. And that means as soon as you see him!"

He looked at you, processing your words before answering, "...fine. But seriously... don't go dark on me again, Jagiya." He said quietly. 

You smiled, and snuggled up closer to him, "I won't, my poor baby."

The three of you continued chatting, catching up on all the crazy things you missed out on. Apparently a lot can happen in two weeks. You were angry you missed out on a weekend camping trip. Apparently they all had gotten so drunk, except Chan. And I.N. kept threatening to hit people with his shoe. They informed you that Chan was very quiet on the trip. He kept to himself mostly, and binge ate ice cream instead of sharing a drink with the rest. 

You couldn't get your mind off Hyunjin's words. Chan has been watching you? The amount of time you spent checking him out, you'd figured if that were true you would have noticed. Maybe he was sneakier than you thought. Then again, that night your eyes did meet more than once or twice... You kept catching him looking at you. Maybe what Hyune said was true.

You were stuffed, full of candy and sweets. And also a little tipsy. It was getting late. Close to an hour later, you sent them home in a rideshare, telling them both to text you when they get home. Then you made sure to text Minho, alerting him of exactly how drunk Han was, and apologizing. You knew he'd be the one stuck taking care of him, if there's anyone who loves Ji as much as you, it's Minho. He might love him even more, having known him for much longer than you did. If the boys didn't have such a busy schedule this week, you'd be able to have Ji and Jinnie spend the night and take care of them yourself. 

A weight was lifted off your shoulders, and you silently cursed yourself for hiding yourself away for so long. You always did that, and it never ended well. You really were thankful to Ji, you don't know what you'd do without him.

That night, you felt yourself drifting off to sleep quicker, easier. But even as slumber was pulling you in, Chan was still on your mind. 

Chan was sitting on the couch with Minho, having been forced out of his room and pushed to socialize. He hadn't done much, he was in his thoughts again. Occasionally entertaining the others with curt responses and short conversations here and there. They seemed to just be happy with his presence, and he was thankful for that.

Jisung and Hyunjin had gone to your house, and the unknown made him feel uneasy. He was happy though, because that meant you weren't cutting everyone off, you weren't done with the entire group, you were staying in their lives.

Everyone but the man that fucked up it would seem. Still, he felt relief. He wouldn't forgive himself if he was the cause of a valuable friendship lost for everyone.

The rest of the members had gone to sleep by now, but he and Minho were waiting for the two younger members to arrive home. You had texted Minho saying they were on their way back, and to take care of them as they were drunk. Jisung especially. 

He was wondering what was taking them so long, and he could tell Minho had some worry too. His leg shaking up and down. Then, as if on cue, Hyunjin bursts through the door. He has Hannie in his grasp, pulling him along as he tries to resist entering the dorm.

Hyune mumbled, "C'mon. You promised her." 

He started to feel flushed, and hot. What does that mean?

He gave Hannie a push towards Chan, and Minho gave a worried look to both of them. He was expecting the worst. Jisung was staring at his feet, playing with his fingers and biting his lip. 

Chan didn't think he could feel more disheartened than he already was, but it was apparently possible. Staring at Hannie in front of him, he looked so defeated. What had happened at your house?

Finally he looked up to Chan. And Chan was sure his face mirrored the younger ones anxiety. 

Then Han started tearing up, "I'm sorry Channie-hyung!" He wailed, and collapsed into Chan's arms. 

Chan was shocked, but he just held him close, and softly shushed him, trying to comfort him. He was trying to offer understanding and his own apologies. But Jisung ignored it babbled on, recanting his negative actions and harsh words. Chan respected the fact that he was apologizing, but he already knew why he had said the things he said. Why he had done the things he did. In fact, he held a sense of pride towards Hanji for it. It wasn't easy for him to stand up to Chan. And while, yes, he was being inappropriate from a certain viewpoint, he expected nothing less from the boy trying to protect his best friend. He couldn't be angry with him about that fact.

If anything he just felt more guilty that he had to protect you from Chan at all.

He continued slurring, stuttering, and sniffling in between talking. His words were barely coherent at this point, but Chan did catch one sentence.

"I thought I was losing her forever because of that night..."

Chan never felt more disappointed in himself, his entire being crumpled. Not only did he hurt you, he hurt Han. He's hurt the other members who grew to care for you just as much as he did. He never intended to hurt anyone, and instead he hurt many. It was all his fault.

With the help of Minho, they dragged Han to bed. Minho stayed with him, tucking him in, then getting him water and paracetamol for the morning. Minho stated he'd be spending the night in Han's room, just in case he was going to be sick. So Chan went out to check on Hyunjin, hoping he wasn't as inebriated but expecting as much. He found him in the kitchen, a bottle of water in one hand and a chip bag in the other.

"You feeling okay, Hyunjin?"

"Yeah, I didn't have as much as Han did..." He trailed off, "Neither did y/n." He was eyeing Chan as he continued, a glint in his eye while he said it.

Chan just nodded and kept silent, knowing he was trying to get at something. And it didn't feel like it was anything but teasing. Hyunjin wasn't having that though, he never did when people ignored what he had to say.

"Y/n made Han apologize you know," He started as he opened his chips, "I mean we both know he would've eventually. But she made him promise he would apologize as soon as he saw you."

That piqued his interest somewhat. He didn't view you as a mean person, but he figured you wouldn't mind seeing him distressed due to Han. In fact when he was standing in front of him, he was sure that he was about to get cussed out. By order of you, maybe. Considering Hyune said that Han promised you something. He wouldn't blame you, he deserved it after all.

But no. You were continuing to be your kind and sweet self. Even towards the person who upset you. He was confused.

"Why?" Chan finally whispered, more to himself than Hyune. 

"I believe her words were, 'he's done and sacrificed so much for you' and 'no one knows what's going through his head'. So she suggested that he, well more like intimidated him, to apologize." He said while dipping his hand into the bag of chips, "It was cute, really. She was almost... protective." 

With that he popped a chip in his mouth, and went off to bed, leaving Chan dumbstruck in the kitchen yet again.

His heart was thumping in his ears, unsure of how to interpret those words. But they meant something, right? Hyunjin was a tease, sure, but he must know what happened. He wasn't just teasing about this? Surely he wouldn’t go to that extent.

'No one knows what's going through his head.' 

You were right. No one knows. You don't know. He needed to talk to you, he needed to let you know. He needed to let you in, even if it was hard.

Suddenly he felt hope again. It was small and shriveled, but alive. He was sure with enough care and nourishment, something precious could bloom from it. 

The week flew by, and now it was nearing the weekend again. Things almost felt normal. You had returned to the office regularly, no longer working from home. Your time with Ji had gone back to normal, Jinnie often tagging along now. And the other members were glad you had started showing up again too. Everyone was excited to recommence the late night antics at their dorm tonight.

You couldn't help but notice Chan seemed relieved too, a little too relieved. Even though you clearly gave him the cold shoulder. It didn't seem to bother him. You obviously have an idea of why his attitude towards you changed drastically, but what you don't have an idea of is what his goal is. You can't necessarily say he's acting as if nothing had happened anymore, because of his new demeanors. But he still hasn't mentioned anything to you directly. His gall was starting to irritate you. His mixed signals were angering you. 

If you were to think logically and assume, maybe in his head, he had been attempting some sort of effort to 'fix' things. But you tried to shut it down every single time, still unsure of his reasoning. Because he still never brought up that night, and was acting as if nothing happened at all. As if his reasoning for trying to be more friendly didn't exist. It was ridiculous. 

Before that night, it was always you making sure to greet him first, you striking up small talk, you trying to crack jokes with him. All small and simple gestures, but gestures nonetheless. If only to keep things polite and civil. The tables seemed to have turned, and now he was initiating it all. In front of others you were short with him, but made sure to still be polite. There was a deeper detachment than before, and it didn't go unnoticed by the others either. Though they kept their mouths shut, only eyeing the interactions between you two. 

In your head you figured that he'd get the hint and stop trying so hard at whatever it was he was trying at. You hoped it would trigger a conversation about that night finally. It got to the point where it started to create an awkward vibe in the presence of the others. But no, he still wouldn't stop. He just amped it up, and now the dynamic was once again changing. 

He'd figured out the exact times you would take your breaks, and would manage to catch you before anyone else could. When you stepped off the elevator, he'd be waiting for you with a smile, and offer to buy you a snack. You'd decline, instead opting to take a small walk and stretch your legs. When you get back to your desk you'd find your favorite cookies on them, or your favorite candy bar, or your favorite drink from the vending machine. They were always wrapped nicely or bagged with a bow, with a note attached. It usually reads something like, 'don't forget to eat today! --Channie'. 

You would always hand them out to your co-workers, or offer the singular items to your office bestie, before crumpling the note and throwing it out. 

He'd taken to somehow always being there to hold a door open for you. Or trying to hold your bags when he caught you using the stairs instead of the elevator, actively trying to avoid him. Or when you were helping staff move the camera equipment from room to room, he'd try to take the load off your hands. It always ended in you snapping at him in a whisper. And him furrowing his brows like he didn't understand what he did wrong.

It's not that his actions were wrong, actually. They were the opposite, but why? Why was he doing all this, when he never did before. He was putting all this effort into acts of service, when all you wanted to do was talk. It was hard for you to bring it up, especially when he was acting so sweet yet pissing you off at the same time. 

You should've realized it'd be hard for him to bring it up too, but you didn't. Because of that, there was the Wednesday incident. 

You were heading home for the day, not having had a run in with Chan all day, and unsure how to feel about it. You were almost out the door when you heard heavy footsteps coming towards you from across the lobby, and your stomach twisted. 

Chan.

"Hey! Wait!" He said with a smile, "I'll walk you to your car." 

You'd had enough at that point. You rolled your eyes, and continued out the door. But you knew he'd catch up anyways. 

As his pace aligned with yours, he kept talking, "Sorry I couldn't catch you at all today, it was a busy one. It still is, I think I'll be stuck in the studio all night. Han too, we finally figured out the ho--"

"Chan!" You cut him off, "Really? What makes you think I'm in the mood to talk to you? What makes you think I was waiting for your presence at all? You don't need to apologize for being busy. We're at work. We're working. It's what we do." You spat out, more abrasive than you've ever been to him. 

He looked at you wide eyed, and you felt something akin to guilt pang in your chest. Immediately you ignored it, and kept walking. Only for him to latch onto your arm gently. 

"I don't understand." He said, discouragement lacing his voice. "I'm trying to... trying to--" 

"Trying to what? What exactly is it that you're trying to do? Because I can't figure it out. You're being so hot and cold, you went from one extreme to the other. I don't know how to decipher that."

"I just want things to go back to being okay again! I want us to be normal again." He said exasperated. 

"Okay?!" You chuckled, "Normal? Our normal was borderline avoiding each other, which I am keeping up with very well, thank you. Our normal was talking to each other out of necessity. Our normal was little to no interaction, unless we're in a group. Whatever you're trying at, it's not our normal!" You shouted.

"No, what I mean is-" but you cut him off again, too heated to think logically.

"Our normal definitely didn't include me against a wall, and your fingers inside me and around my throat. THAT is not our normal. And I know it made things uncomfortable. And I know you regret it. But how can you expect things to go back to being whatever you think 'okay' is, if we haven't even talked about it?" You took a second to suck air into your lungs that seemed to be burning with rage. 

"Instead you talk to me like that night never happened, and then you behave as if we've been best friends forever. You act as if that behavior, whatever your reason for it, isn't influenced by that night. You talk to me about things we never talked about before. We never caught up on how each other's day was, we never checked in with each other to make sure the other ate, we never took breaks together to get coffee or a snack and chat. You're expecting me to be the same as you, and ignore what happened. But I can't Chan, I can't do it. All I want is closure, instead it feels almost like I'm being led on. Before that happened, I was insignificant to your life. Our only connection being Ji! Then... then in an instant everything changed and then it changed again. It's confusing Chan. I'm lost here." 

The tears were brimming in your eyes, and his ears were the brightest red you've ever seen. The flush went to his cheeks, and down his neck, and the grip he had on your arm was trembling. He started to open his mouth again, but you were quick to stop him. You felt like all he would give you right now is excuses, and you weren't ready to hear that.

"Please, Chan. I'm the one who's trying. I'm trying to move past it, like you seem to want to. But it's harder for me. When I feel like this, all I want to do is go home and hide. I can't do that though, not again. I'm trying to be civil. I'm trying to be polite, for the sake of everyone in our lives. But you keep pushing for some sort of friendship we never had..." You felt the dampness on your cheeks now, and before you knew it, your last sentence slipped through, "And did it ever occur to you that I wanted more than a simple friendship?" 

At that he let your arm fall, and he took in a shaky breath. You figured now was the time he would say something, but he seemed frozen. Then he spoke in a soft tone.

"I'm so sorry y/n, I promise I can explain..."

That was it, your heart started to ache at the thought of his words. You weren't ready to be rejected again. So you rubbed your cheeks, one at a time, swiping the tears away and sniffling. He reached towards you again, stepping closer, but you stepped back. 

"I need to go."

And you left. You got in your car, and you held it all in. The whole drive home, you refused to let yourself process any of the conversation. Which in reality was less of a conversation, and more you blowing up on Chan. 

It wasn't until you stepped through your door that you sunk to the floor, back against your front door and started sobbing. You let it all out. The guilt for yelling at him. The despair over the rejection, that never left your heart. The embarrassment over the entire situation and how you were acting. Your unjust, pure anger. It all just came out in tears. You couldn't stop them, your only focus was on breathing when you could. 

You didn't know how long you stayed like that, hugging your knees and bawling your eyes out. But the sound of keys jingling, and the pressure of the door pushing against your back, is what snapped you out of that grief stricken daze.

"Oh, Jagiya..." You registered Hans voice as you stood up to move, you forgot you gave him keys to your place.

He scooped you into his chest, squeezing you tight. You held onto him, just as firm. 

"Wait..." You were confused, Chan said they both would be late in the studio, "What are you doing here?"

He pulled back and scanned your face as you sniffled. He sighs, and leads you into your kitchen, wetting a towel and dabbing at your puffy eyes and cheeks before drying them. Once you seemed to be in a pacified state, he continued. 

"An unintelligent kangaroo I happen to know, told me I should head home early and check on you. He seems to be more intelligent than I thought." He tried to make light of the situation, but guilt bubbled up in you once again. 

"Wanna talk about what happened?" He offered. 

And so you word vomited at him. Retelling the whole scene word for word, since the words were mostly your own. He listened, nodding when necessary, and humming in agreement to some parts. When you were done, you looked at him and waited. 

He was looking down with his arms crossed, leaning against your kitchen counter. He looked deep in thought. 

"Well?" You said desperately. 

"Well, I think it's good one of you finally broke the ice on it. You got it off your chest, you said what you needed to. Yeah, maybe you were rude. But now the door to talk about it finally was opened. However, maybe you should've heard him out. Seems like he could barely get a word in edgewise. If I know you when you're angry, which I do, I know you never planned on letting him speak. You always have to have the last word, my little attack chihuahua."

Then he poked your forehead, "Stubborn. Defensive. Both of you." 

You groaned, "I know, I know. I'm already beating myself up over it." 

"When will either of you learn? You don't need to beat yourself up over it, you just need to communicate. You missed your opportunity today, but that doesn't mean all hope is lost. I know he really wants to talk to you."

"Talk again?" You scrunch your face at the idea, even while knowing it had to happen.

"Apologize, is more like it." He retorted. 

Your face dropped, but you knew he was right. 

"Hey, you made me do it. And it was the right thing to do. Like you said, no matter how angry I am, I needed to apologize. The same rules apply to you... Plus I've been hesitant to say this but..."

"What?"

"If he wanted to stop in the middle of it all, he had every right to. I know it hurts but, no means no, you know?" 

Guilt flooded your veins yet again, are you really coming across as some sort of hostile person after facing a rejection? You suppose it was half right, which made you feel disappointed in yourself. You were no better than the men who throw tantrums when women reject them. In your mind though, you were more upset at ignoring it all. 

"I know that, and currently I'm not angry because sex didn't happen. I'm angry because I don't understand why it almost happened, and I want an explanation. I just want to know why he was so cold to me the entire time before it happened, and why he tried to act like nothing happened and was friendlier to me afterwards. If he wanted to stop because he changed his mind and wasn't feeling it, that's fine. But he could've said that, I'd be hurt because I like him so much, but I'd get over it. Why I'm upset now is because I don't like the mixed signals. I don't like the unknown. I want closure."

"To get closure you have to talk to him y/n, you avoid him just as much as he used to avoid you. Now that he's stopped, you're still avoiding him. And acting kind of rude to him, we've all seen it. The fake smiles don't really hide the contempt in your eyes. You're always valid in your emotions always, but I've recently learned that it's the reaction that you are held responsible for. That goes for him too, even though his reactions may not be as hostile as yours. His reaction of ignoring it, is just as hurtful to you. But... I have a feeling if you hear him out, you'll get your closure." 

Again, you knew he was right about it all. You knew you had been bitter and immature about the entire situation. You paced for a moment, thinking about how you could even apologize to him. He'd been trying to fix things, and talk just like you wanted. Why have you held on to all that anger for so long? You were in the wrong too, more so than he was. You needed to apologize quickly.

"Just take the night to process and decompress. You'll have plenty of opportunities to talk with him, especially since his mission in life lately is just that. Again, we've all noticed it, he can't seem to leave you alone."

"Do you know what he's up to?" You squint your eyes at Ji suspiciously. 

"He won't tell anyone exactly why he's doing what he's doing. But I have my own speculations, which I won't be sharing because I'm not trying to meddle and put ideas in your head. After talking with him a bit tonight, I don't think he's aiming to hurt you, that's for sure." 

You sighed again, and nodded. 

"Now. Dinner and comfort anime? I'm thinking.... Nana?" 

"God, yes please. I need a distraction from realizing how much of an asshole I was. That I was actually the one starting issues." You groan, and you both plop down the couch and start to order food. 

Ji went home half an hour ago, and you're now staring at your phone. Debating the text you typed up to Chan. Your finger was hovering over the send button. It would be better to apologize in person, but you weren't sure you could face him without some sort of emotional outburst anymore. It was something you needed to work on. So maybe smoothing things over through text before you spoke with him would help.  

You read it over one last time... God you sounded too professional, like you were talking to your boss. You hit send anyway, you weren't going to come up with anything better to say. You put your phone down, only for it to buzz a minute later.

Good... things are starting to get better. Or so you thought. 

You didn't see him at all on Thursday, nor spoke to him. You didn't see Jiji either, but he confirmed through text that Chan had been cooped up with him in the studio. You felt bad, knowing you probably added more stress to their jobs. Especially considering Ji ditched work yesterday to comfort you. 

Now it was Friday, and they were back at work in the studio again. Hyunjin was over yours because he finished up early, the both of you were just hanging out. Waiting for everyone else to get out. The nine of you were recommencing weekend get togethers.

"You should bring them food." Hyunjin, who was currently laying across your couch suggested.

He could sense your anxiety, constantly checking your phone for the time. He knew you wanted to talk to Chan, finally.

"I don't want to interrupt them, I already did that yesterday." You mumbled.

"Tch, like either of them would really view you as an interruption. They'd be elated."

"Ji? Yes, yes he would. You know things are weird between me and Chan though." You whined.

"Mmm, but this could be your chance to fix it." He suggested in a sing-song voice. 

You actually debated it, but you didn't want to prolong his work tonight by stealing time for a conversation. A most likely lengthy conversation. 

You looked at the clock, still debating and wondering if you had time. When you saw the time you realized it was much later than you thought. 

"Shit, forget food. We're going to be late." 

Hyunjin glanced at the time and nodded, "Alright, let's head to mine."

You grabbed your keys and headed for the door, Hyunjin followed and soon you both were in the car on the way to the dorm. 

Once you got there, and Hyunjin let you in, you realized everyone was already here, judging by the pile of shoes. It seemed, the majority were getting cleaned up and changed into fresh clothes. 

"I'm going to change too! I need to get out these jeans and into something comfier. Just make yourself at home!" He said while heading to his bedroom. 

You sat on the couch and started scrolling on your phone. You were laughing at a funny video when you heard someone walking down the hall. Of course Chan is the first to finish, and he decides to join you on the couch. He takes the seat next to you, like right next to you. 

"Um... Do you have to sit so close?" You say in the softest voice you could manage.

Remember. Stay level headed, no snapping, no meltdown, no blow ups. Don't yell. 

He looks at you a bit defeated, and moves to the other end of the couch. 

You sigh. Things were still touchy. It can't keep continuing on like this, it's too uncomfortable for you both. You have to apologize and make amends. It's now or never, but he speaks before you the chance. 

"Y/n. Is now a good time to talk?" He says in a serious tone, with a stern look on his face. 

You tense under his gaze, and your stomach feels like it's sinking. Was he that mad at you? You kind of understand why though. 

"S-sure." You stuttered.

His eyes darkened, tongue poking his cheek. He's getting shifty now, and glancing down the hallway.

 "Do you mind if we talk in private?" 

You suppose it would be even more uncomfortable if someone else happened across you two discussing this. So when he stands up and heads towards his room, you follow him into it. 

His room was neat. You'd never been in it before, and sure, you've seen the live streams. But it was a very different feeling, seeing it through a screen versus being inside it. 

He sits on his bed, and pats the spot next to him for you to sit. You opt for leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of you. You were feeling defensive still, and didn't want to push your limits. It was his turn to sigh now, as he hung his head.

"Y/n I meant it when I said I'm really tryi--"

"Can I say something first... and then I promised I won't interrupt you again."

He just nods, with his tongue poking his cheek again. You know you're pushing his buttons, but you felt you needed to apologize before anything. Now you decided to sit next to him, twisting your torso to face him. And he did the same to face you. 

"I'm sorry for the way I acted. It was incredibly childish." You sighed, "I know you had every right to change your mind, and I shouldn't have gotten so angry over it. I never meant to act so toxic towards you. I should've just accepted the fact that you wanted to stop and moved on. But the truth is... I've liked you for a while now. So when that happened, in my head, I took it as you reciprocating my feelings. Which doesn't make any sense, because you never knew of my feelings.”

Chan snorted a bit, trying to conceal a laugh.

“Then when you stopped, paired with the look on your face, it felt like you realized you made a mistake doing that with me. You looked like you were disgusted. Which I promise you, I now totally understand if that's the case. But it still hurt me... regardless, I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. So again, I'm sorry. I truly am. I hope you can forgive me." You managed to get it all out clearly, with a steady tone. 

He was staring at you with a thoughtful look on his face, soaking in your words, processing. Then he smirked, and that was the last thing you expected. 

"I guess you were acting a little bratty." He chuckled a bit. 

Then he reached for your hand, putting his on top of yours. You felt the fluttering in your stomach at his simple action. But you flipped your hand over anyways, palm up and letting him hold it.

"But y/n, you've got it all wrong, and it's partly my fault." He started, and your eyebrows furrowed, a look of confusion falling on your face.

"I like you too," he squeezed your hand gently, and it was oddly comforting, "The reason I stopped is because I didn't want you to think that all I wanted from you was sex. Because I want so much more." 

Were you dreaming? Is he really confessing right now? Even after how horrible you were towards him?

"I know the way I acted before doesn't exactly translate to me having feelings for you." He continued, "The truth is I was too scared to confess, until that night. The liquor gave me that extra boost of confidence, and you just... looked so beautiful. And the game we played, and catching you look my way multiple times. It almost confirmed to me that you wanted me too. Because I wanted you then and there. So when I saw you in the hallway, I thought it was my chance. But I let the lust take over."

Heat started to spread in your lower stomach at his words, and he kept going. 

"I wanted to do things the proper way. I wanted to confess, and ensure that you knew I was serious about you, and not a fling. I wanted to take you out on dates, and properly ask you to be mine. I should have just said it all that night. I got scared again though, and just froze. And I know the way I was acting right after was confusing, I didn't mean to give you mixed signals."

Your head was spinning with all the information he was sharing, it truly felt like you were in a daydream. Then you found your voice again.

"It felt like you were disgusted with me." You whispered, "And then you were acting so nonchalant about the whole thing, as if it never happened. I guess I was assuming things."

He cupped your cheek, and comfortingly rubbed his thumb against it

"I could never be disgusted by you, love."

You had to resist a shiver at him calling you that pet name.

"I wanted us both to be sober too. That's why I idiotically told you to drink water, and rest. And the next morning, I was so nervous because you were rushing to leave. You had tears in your eyes, I said the first thing to pop into my head. I was hoping to talk about everything that morning. But then you walked out the door, and I felt like I had no right to stop you.  Then Hannie was so mad at me, you stopped coming around. I felt like I fucked everything up and I lost all hope for a while." He sounded distraught.

“Until Hannie argued with me, yelling at me to fix things. He outright put the entire blame on me, and he did this in front of everyone. So that experience paired with your disappearance from our lives, especially Hannies life. He was so lost without you, I knew I had to try and fix it right away. I had been wanting to, I was just so unsure how to go about it. But Han's words pushed me to just go for it."

You took the opportunity to scoot closer to him, side by side now. He threw his arm around your waist. 

"The elevator... ugh. I was just so hurt, I was so sure that you were going to come up with excuses, try to let me down easy. I was terrified of the rejection. I had no idea, I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, we were both a little clueless about everything."

"I guess we were just a little stupid, huh?" You laughed.

He chuckled, "Just a bit."

"Then when Hyunjin happened to mention something, that's when I fully had hope again. So I tried to approach you, and be friendly, and get you snacks. I tried to help you out at work when I could. I was still unsure of how to bring it up to you." He admitted.

You felt so ashamed, "And then I went and yelled at you. I didn't even let you speak, ugh. I'm so sorry." 

"Again with the apologizing," He chuckled, "I told you, we were just confused about it. There was a lot of miscommunication... when we did talk anyways."

"I know, I was feeling and throwing mixed signals. All I wanted the entire time was to talk about it. Yet, I tried to avoid you at all costs. It doesn't exactly make sense. God, I was so... so childish."

"You were feisty is what you were. And I'm sure you still are." He joked.

You giggled. It was unbelievable how understanding he was. It was more shocking how wrong you were about his feelings. You had completely misconstrued everything. Assuming the worst. You couldn't be happier about being so wrong.

Nuzzling into his chest, and wrapping your arm around his torso, had him humming contently. But then you thought of what he said earlier. 

"What did Hyunjin say...?"

He cleared his throat, "When you made Hannie apologize to me, Jin said that you were acting almost protective over me. It made me think that I had a chance of proving my feelings for you."

"So that's the true reason why you were so friendly, and constantly getting me things and trying to help me out. You were lowkey trying to confess.” You looked up to him smiling.

He was blushing now, "Yeah, but I realize I was still doing things a little out of order. I'm terrible at communicating I guess." 

"Channie..." you said for the first time, and his blush got deeper, "I know it means a lot to you to do things traditionally. And I appreciate the effort you put in to accomplish that. But to me, it doesn't matter as much. We could've figured everything out afterwards." You said softly, and he was smiling down at you. 

"I guess I should catch up to the modern age." He joked. 

"Never! You prove that chivalry isn't dead. I love that you're a romanticist. Don't change." You laughed, "And... the communication problems? That's something we can both work on. I need to fix that in me too."

You felt him tense, and he caught your chin between his fingers, pushing you to look up at him further. You felt the warmth of his breathing spread across your face, he had that same look on his face as when he leant in to kiss you that night. Wetness was now pooling in your panties, and you had to resist clenching your thighs together. He was so in tune with your body language, and he caught it last time. You're sure he would notice again. You didn't want him to think you were rushing him into sex.

"So... does that mean you want to give us a go?" He was so serious when he said it, you could see the glint of excitement in his eyes though. 

"Of course, it's a dream come true." You smiled at him.

He was quick to bring his lips to yours, kissing you sweetly, softly. You sighed into the kiss, and felt like you were melting into him as you turned your body towards him more. You brought your hands up, one resting on the side of his neck, the other on his shoulder. He brought his other hand to the back of your head, and combed his fingers into your curls. 

He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss, licking your bottom lip. Your tongue met his, and soon you were wrestling against his for dominance. He started leaning you back against his bed, adjusting himself on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs. His hands roamed your body and he never broke away from your lips. You were nearly panting into his mouth, giving up and allowing him to explore your mouth. Your hands clutching his shirt like it would save you. The kiss was messy, downright sloppy, and you loved it. You were both desperate for this.

You wanted to imprint his touch into your mind. Every area he grazed made you feel tingly all over. Your entire body was oversensitive for him. You'd never felt like this with anyone else. 

Then he was playing with the hem of your shirt, his fingers grazing your stomach. You mewled at that, and he groaned. It was so high pitched it nearly sounded like a whimper. 

"Please... I still want you." He whispered against your lips. 

You were breathing heavy, chest heaving. You couldn't help it when your hips bucked up, letting yourself get consumed by lust, "Yes, god yes. I need you."

He re-positioned himself, lowering his body onto yours and letting his hips grind into you. You could feel his length against you through his shorts, and you whined. Even this felt like ecstasy, he almost made you cum last time from dry humping. He was so skilled at making sure you got friction exactly where you needed it. It was driving you feral. 

His lips attached to your neck, kissing, sucking, and biting his way down to your chest. His hand groped your breast, kneading it. Then he rolled over, flipping your position, so you were on top of him. It was your turn to grind your hips, your core rubbing directly on his erection. He threw his head back, mouth hanging open. His hands gripped your waist, helping you move against him. 

Things felt less rushed this time around. It felt like all time stopped, and the only thing that existed in the world was you and him. You wanted to be lost in this passion with him forever. The high he made you feel, made your head all hazy with desire. 

"Fuck..." He whispered as he looked up at you, seeing how fucked out you looked already. 

His hands slipped underneath your shirt, pulling it up. You took the hint and ripped it off, unclasping your bra afterwards. 

You had to admit, you felt your face flush again, at being exposed to him. But he soon wiped the thought from your mind, leaning up and placing soft kisses all over your chest. He kissed up to your collar bones, he kissed each mound, kissed in between them, he even kissed your nipples so gently. 

You were learning he was a tease.

One hand was kneading your breast again, the other braced against your back. Then his lips closed around one of your nipples, and his hot tongue swirled around it. His hand now playing with the other. Pinching, flicking, and rubbing. He braced the hand against your back, pushing you into him more, while he sucked your nipple harshly. You whimpered, and your hips started rolling against him again.

He pulled off with a pop, and mumbled "I could worship these tits love, all of you is so gorgeous."

His words made you blush, and then he pushed you onto your back again. He clearly wasn't scared to manhandle you at all. He was quickly unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans.

"Need to tase you..." He mumbled again.

You liked needy Chan, somehow he kept the perfect balance of dominant yet deprived for you. He positioned himself between your legs, kissing and licking every inch of them. He held your inner thigh, pushing your legs apart to expose your panties. He placed a kiss on your clothed center, and groaned at the wet spot that was already there. His tongue peeked out, and he licked a slow stripe up, making your underwear wetter. Your eyes rolled back and you sighed, craving more.

And did you mention that you loved how vocal he was? 

He licked his lips as he glanced up at you, mumbling "Taste so good, 'M gonna be addicted. Wanna be between your thighs all the time."

Then he spoke more clearly, with a smirk on his face "You're going to sit on my face one day. I want you to ride it."

You whined at the thought, and pushed your hips up, searching for friction. He took the opportunity to slide your panties to the side, and his tongue slid between your folds immediately. 

You moaned loudly as his tongue flicked against your clit. You felt like you were on fire, yet shivering at the goosebumps spreading all over your body. Your hand reached down to his hair, and he groaned again, making his lips vibrate against you. 

"Mmm... fuck." You moaned as you rocked your hips against his face. 

He has no objections, but he momentarily paused to rip your panties off. Then he wraps his arms around each thigh, forcing you to open wider for him. He buried his face in you, letting his tongue dip into your entrance. 

You gasped at the intrusion, your hand squeezing tighter into his hair. It had you nearly wailing. You'd never felt that before, and you think you could cum from it.

When his lips closed around your clit, he sucked. You were panting, feeling that familiar pleasure slowly coil in your lower abdomen. 

He wasn't shy at all about devouring you, making slurping and squelching sounds. He brought his hand to your entrance, and slipped two fingers inside. You moaned, and he let you adjust before curling his fingers and pumping into you. Your orgasm is building faster now. 

Writhing on the bed, and clutching his sheets, he did his best to keep you still. You were a moaning and whining mess. You couldn't help but be loud. His hand moved faster, as the tip of his tongue flicked at your clit. It was all too much as you felt your climax wash over your. You let out a desperate groan, your legs quivering as his hand squeezed your thigh tighter, preventing you from squeezing your legs shut.

Once you whimpered at the overstimulation, he stopped. Giving your clit one last kiss, sending one last shiver up your spine. Your chest was heaving, you were out of breath. He climbed up your body, wiping your juices and his saliva off his chin with the back of his hand. When he kissed you again, you could taste yourself on him, and you hummed as you licked against his tongue.

He kept kissing you, and you tugged at his shirt, "No fair, I'm completely naked and you're fully dressed."

He chuckled and sat up, pulling his shirt off. You reached up to feel his abs, fingers tracing between each muscle. You moved up to his pecks, and when your palm grazed against his nipple, he hissed. Picking up on it, it was your turn to kiss his chest, making sure to pay special attention to his nipples. Your tongue lapping at them, and then sucking them. 

He quickly turned into a whining mess. His voice making you grow wetter, and clenching around nothing. 

You really loved how vocal he was.

He made quick work of pulling his pants and boxers off, and leaned back down to kiss you. The pressure of his weight on top of you was comforting, and you placed your arms on his shoulders. His cock twitched against your core, and you were mewling again. 

He smiled against your lips and whispered, "Is my love needy right now?"

Then his fingers wrapped around your neck, and you bit your lip. Your hand was now on top of his, making him squeeze lightly, and you whined.

"Does my baby girl want to be choked right now?”

"Chan if you don't fuck me right now, I swear I'll--"

Before you could finish, he was gripping the base of his member. Sliding into you at a steady pace, and you gasped. He lets you adjust again. The length surprised you, and his girth stretched you deliciously. You always knew this man was hung. 

His hand never left your throat, and he did add more pressure around it. But you still desperately needed more.

He must've read your mind, or at least your face, "You're really into breathplay huh? Need it harder?"

Your mind was clouded in pleasure, you felt so full having him inside you. His hand on your throat only heightens it. So you nodded as best you could. 

"Remember, I need the words baby girl." 

"Yes, yes, fuck yes." You moaned.

He nearly growled as he pulled out and snapped his hips into you sharply. He kept pumping into you. Rolling his hips into you roughly, skin slapping against skin. His hand squeezed your throat tightly, cutting off all oxygen and then easing up, so you could get a proper breath in. Everything felt blissful, consumed by need. 

Your hips started rolling, meeting each of his thrusts. You were focused on making sure you both got off.

He had his eyes closed, face scrunched in concentration and panting, "Shit, you're so wet love. So tight, gonna cum too fast."

You clenched around him hearing that, and let out another whimper. You felt it building up in you again. His pace became uneven, and you knew he was nearing his climax. 

"Please..." he begged with a strangled whine, "Cum with me, can't hold on much longer."

"Channie... so close, just a little more." You panted back.

He removed his hand from around your neck and down to your clit, rubbing quickly in little circles. That was all you needed to let go, becoming a moaning and quivering mess. Your walls were clenching around him again, as you rode out your orgasm. 

He groans, hips stuttering before he pulls out of you. Giving himself a few pumps, he let out a loud and strangled cry as he finished. He was spurting ropes of cum all over your stomach, only slowing when the last of it was dripping down his cock and onto his fingers.

It was so sensual, you grabbed his hand and sucked them into your mouth. Making sure to lick them clean, keeping eye contact with him. His lips parted and he was looking at you so affectionately. When you finally popped them out of your mouth, he immediately caressed your face.

"How are you so perfect?" He murmured. 

He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips, and you slowly moved yours with his. This kiss was different, less desperate and more so savoring the moment. You felt lost in him. Nothing else mattered right now but you and him, the rest of the world melted away. You two were in your own bubble, and you couldn't be happier. 

When he pulled away, he spoke "That was amazing, my love." 

"It was." You giggled.

"I'm sorry it was a little rushed, I was craving you so bad." He said as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, a little embarrassed. 

Your fingers brushed through his hair. He was right, it was rushed on both ends. You both were a little clumsy, figuring out each other's bodies for the first time. But that doesn't mean the sex was horrible, he made you cum twice. 

"We'll have plenty of chances to take our time with each other. I think after everything, we were both hopelessly desperate for each other, and like you said. It was amazing Channie."

"I like hearing Channie coming from you, as different as it is." 

"Mmmm, I have to think of another pet name. You claimed 'love' already." 

He just chuckled, "You can call me whatever you want, Channie, love, Jagi. I don't mind."

"I think Ji would keel over if I called you Jagi instead of him." You giggled.

"Hannie can deal with it, he's not the only man in your life that's close to you anymore." 

Chan got up to get you a towel, and cleaned you up.

You felt satisfied, laying down facing each other, and still embracing. 

"So, about the other chances you mentioned. Maybe we can try out the edging you like so much. And all it takes for me to truly dom you is flipping a switch in my head and not holding back. I'm just not sure you can handle it."

"I can handle it, I'll be your perfect little sub." You snuggle closer to him.

"Hmmm, why do I doubt that for some reason. We already know how bratty you are."

"That just means more punishments for me, which I'm sure we'll both love."

"Is that so?" He started leaning in to kiss you.

Suddenly there was banging on the door. 

"Are you two finished? I'm assuming your finished since all the noise stopped." Hanji yelled.

You looked wide eyed at Chan and he had a smug smile on his face.

"We'd like you to join us, we're playing cards against humanity tonight. Besides it's my time with my Jagi again, I'd like to be able to see you." Jiji shouted through the door. 

You both scrambled to dress yourselves. He gave you his t-shirt, and some sweats. Slipping on nearly the same outfit, you opened the door to a pouting Ji. His face slowly transformed into a smirk as he looked you up and down. 

"Better fix your sex hair babes, although I guess there’s no hiding your hickies and bruises though." He leaned in and whispered, "I didn't know you liked it that rough, his fingers are clear as day on your neck. You nympho." He poked your tummy repeatedly. 

You nudged him and rolled your eyes, "Shut up." 

Channie came up behind you, and wrapped his arms around your waist, giving you a back hug. Just like that, Ji was back to pouting. 

"This means I have to share my cuddle time, ugh." He whined.

Chan just patted the top of his head, laughing, "You'll get used to it." 

"Hmph. I'm not going to stop calling her Jagi or babe or any other pet names. I was here first!" He stated.

Chan just chuckled, "I wouldn't expect you to Hannie."

He just turned around, still pouting, and headed back to the living room. You and Channie followed behind him, hand in hand. Eyes glued to each other, and smiling. 

"Oh great, we have to deal with this now, on top of you and Han overdosing us with PDA?" Seungmin complained. 

"I just knew something was up with you two, it's about time you fixed it." Innie commented. 

"Yeah, and by the sound of it. Making up went really well." Changbin jokes, then his eyes wander to your neck, "You know, for as much noise you two were making, I'd never expect you'd be choking her in there."

You blushed intensely, and Channie cleared his throat, smiling, and scratching the back of his head. The group laughed, and you and Chan took your seats. Which was him sitting in the chair as usual, and you sitting in his lap. 

"God, this is going to take getting used to." Hyunjin said with a smirk. 

"You act like you didn't partially help orchestrate this whole thing." Jiji teased. 

"What?!" Felix snapped, "And you didn't tell me?" Now he was pouting. 

"It wasn't my business to tell. Besides, I only nudged them a little bit to communicate. They both seriously lack in that area." Hyune responded. 

"Mmhm, I have to agree with that." Minho chimed in with a smug smile. 

"Alright, alright. Enough poking fun at us. All that matters is that things can go back to normal." Chan said. 

You faced him, "I still don't think this was our normal before, but it definitely can be our new normal now." 

He smiled and gave you a peck on the lips, to which the entire room started gagging, and acting disgusted. They got distracted while setting up the card game, Chan whispered something in your ear. 

"I know we've been doing things abnormally, and this might be a little fast. And we also have a lot more to talk about, but... Will you be mine?" 

You break out into a huge smile, and press your lips to his ear, "Of course Channie. I'd love nothing more than to be your girlfriend."

He turned his head to kiss you again, except this time it wasn't a peck. Your lips moved in sync for a few seconds, and everyone once again noticed. 

"Yeah, you were right Hyune. This is going to take A LOT of getting used to." Felix agreed.

"I don't think I've ever seen Chan-hyung like this before... It's a little weird." Innie chimed in.

"That's because he hasn't done anything like this before. Outright claiming someone? That's new territory for him." Minho said.

"No wonder it was so hard for him to pursue y/n." Seungmin said, "Although I really did have a feeling it was going to be Hannie that ended up with her."

Ji made a face, "Never. Our love isn't romantic, even though we both love skinship."

They were interrupted by the wet sounds of you both still making out. 

 Ji started pouting again, shouting, "Yah! Are we going to play or what? Surely you can both hold off until later, sheesh." 

You pulled away and you and Channie laughed.

"Alright, let's play!" You said excitedly. 

Maybe this was new territory for you, but you felt comfortable in it already. You were so glad that you and Channie were able to find solace in each other. Maybe you guys weren't quite in love yet, but you were elated that he returned your feelings fully.  

This is the normal that Chan was talking about, and you wouldn't dream of having it any other way.

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[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART EIGHTEEN

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, violence, fire, illness, depictions of death, be warned as always masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Rest didn’t come easy, nor did waking up with agonizing pain flashing through you like a beatdown on repeat with no stop button. Sometime during your rest, you recalled Soap and Gaz returning with the promised pillows, carefully cushioning you in between to ensure you as much comfort as possible, but the memory was fuzzy.

Everything felt a bit surreal, as if you weren’t truly present and the events that unfolded never actually happened. You figured it was your mind attempting to protect you, repressing the pain of the new memories, but it always came back in the form of anguish, your shattered bones shifting beneath the surface of your skin with every subtle movement you dared to make.

There was no use in pretending. It was pure hell, and up until now, you played the role of a strong woman with no fear of walking along a path unknown. You played long enough. The pain was far too much to muster an act of strength.

The room was empty when you woke for the nth time, the barest of sun rays peeking through the small windows and casting the room in a dim glow. The Captain nor the others were nowhere to be found, most likely manning the ship as promised or in their own beds to earn the rest they deserved after seeing a ghost of their past.

Your eyes remained on the ceiling, vision blurring then focusing, in and out. No matter how hard you blinked, the fuzziness wouldn’t relinquish its hold, nor did you have the strength or courage to lift a fist to frantically rub it away.

You hated being alone. After Price left last night, it had felt peaceful—now, it felt torturous, listening to the distant waves clash among each other and having no way of taking your time to breathe in the salty air as they fought against the sides of the ship.

Had he slept last night? Had he rested at all?

You went to open your mouth, to call out for him in hopes of being loud enough, but all that left you was a heavy wheeze, your mouth dry to the bone. You were parched as much as you were weak, and it showed in the way you attempted to inhale a deep breath, only for it to come crashing down on you in the form of an extreme sharp clash to your ribcage.

Everything hurt. The euphoria of your shared kiss with the Captain had long worn off, leaving you sober and miserable.

You were nothing more than a skeleton, or perhaps even an undead from those of the stories you’d heard about as a child. Alive, but not living. That was surely how it felt.

You felt utterly helpless as you laid there, unmoving. Even the lift of your finger felt as if you were lifting the weight of the world. It was all so heavy, your body, mind, and soul.

While you were one to cure the sick, you were never on the other line. There was no one there to coddle you in the way you knew to do with others, nor any treatment that could fix you the way you wanted to be fixed. An immediate recovery was out of sight, and it only grew you more restless, an itch burning beneath your skin.

It was only by a miracle of the universe that just as you were beginning to fight within yourself that the door to the quarters opened, Soap stepping inside with a bowl of something warm, the steam faintly radiating up. He looked surprised to see you awake, making haste in shutting the door and hurrying to the bed.

“Dove,” he chirped, throwing you a smile. You knew immediately he was trying to bring you some light, and for that, you appreciated it. “Yer up early today. Was just bringin’ ye some breakfast to start the day with. Ye hungry?”

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of him, then down to the bowl in his hands. You had no desire to eat, your appetite shot the moment you woke with no relief. Despite the faint grumbling in your stomach, the sight made you nauseous, mouth watering in ways considered unpleasant.

Soap noticed, frowning at your pained expression. He set the bowl down, coming to your aid. “Ye don’t look well. Did ye sleep at all?”

All you mustered was a small hum, lips turning down into your own frown. Your body ached, begging to be stretched from its stiff knots, but you truly felt exhausted. It was taking everything in you to resist moving, fearing more flare ups along your side.

Soap’s hand lifted, carefully resting his knuckles on your forehead. Your skin was clammy and warm, something he took note of, and the skin around your eyes appeared darkened, bags already beginning to form.

“M’sorry for what ye had to deal with,” he apologized sympathetically, brushing a knuckle along your brow bone. “Price has been bustin’ ass to figure out where to take ye. Been out there all night.”

You deflated at that, guilt pulling your heart strings. The last thing you wanted was for them to exhaust themselves for the sake of you, and the helplessness only grew.

“Ach, don’t look so grim, lass. We just want what’s best for ye, can’t have ye all banged up and broken, can we?” he attempted to tease, his smile fading into defeated pout when you gave no reaction. “Does it hurt?”

You let out a heavy sigh through your nose, feeling the tension in your rib cage as you excelled your lung’s usage. You offered a short nod, Soap’s expression only turning more apologetic.

“Can I see?” he asked, and when you threw him a weary look, he corrected himself. “I won’t hurt ye, dove, swear. I’ll be gentle.”

You stared at him long and hard, before ultimately agreeing, lifting a heavy hand to paw away at the sheets. The dress was pulled back over your figure, but with Soap averting his eyes respectfully, you worked with all your strength to tug at the fabric to pull it up enough as you did the night before.

You released a frustrated noise when you were unable to get it past your hips, your arm failing you. You hated how weak you’d grown in only mere hours, feeling as fragile as glass, and you knew it would only grow the longer you remained unattended to from a doctor.

“What’s wrong?” Soap asked, voice slightly muffled from him facing the other way. You huffed.

“I can’t get it,” you mumbled, voice croaky from the dryness in your throat.

“I can help,” he tried, keeping his head turned. “I can see ye wantin’ to say no. I won’t make it weird, dove, but it needs to be checked. Let me?”

Your eyes bore into the side of his face, flickering across the rugged skin and stubble. There was no reason not to allow him to see, granted he already had last night, but alone felt much more vulnerable. Still, this was Soap you were talking about—he wouldn’t dare make you recoil.

You hummed approval, turning away from him to avoid his eye as he shifted towards you. His gaze dropped down to the bare skin of your legs, hand outreaching carefully.

Your warm skin felt even hotter when his fingertips grazed your thigh, trailing its way up to the bunched hem of your dress. He was cautious as he helped you lift it, seeming more focused on his own concern rather than anything lustful.

It made you relax, body slowly admitting defeat as the dress lifted past your ribs, the only thing keeping your decency being the thin sheet he had graciously pulled over your legs to provide you cover. It was as if he sensed your discomfort and was doing everything in his power to guarantee he meant no harm.

Your heart seemed to pick up its pace, pounding against your ribcage and shooting a different type of pain through you. You couldn’t put your finger on what it was. You just knew it hurt.

Once your injury was revealed to him, he couldn’t stifle the pained breath through his nose. His face contorted into one of hurt, as if he mirrored your pain.

“Is it bad?” you asked, voice cracking under the cottonmouth.

“Ach, it’s nothin’,” he attempted, though you could hear the burrowing worry in his tone. “Just a bruise, aye?”

You sucked in a careful breath, feeling your lungs fill then slowly release. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Soap grimaced, fingers lightly brushing along the aggressive bruising on your side. The blackened veins had only grown, spreading into ugly branches. Whatever was hiding within them was the sole reason you were so weak, even just mere hours after inheriting them.

“Would I ever lie to ye?”

“Yeah.”

A small smile broke out on his face, only falling when you whimpered a noise of discomfort as his fingers caressed the skin for too long. His expression morphed into one of deep thinking, eyebrows tugged together and teeth nearly gnawing his bottom lip. You thought he looked a bit silly, but maybe you were being delirious.

“No need to worry ‘bout it, birdie. We’re fixin’ ye up real soon,” he assured, a sign of a promise. Despite it, he didn’t sound so sure.

You only hummed, sinking further into the fluff of pillows surrounding you, eyes redirected to the ceiling.

“Do ye want to eat? Ghost fixed ye up somethin’ warm, figured it may lift yer spirits,” he tried, reaching for the bowl he set aside. The steam no longer rose, but the smell of it invaded your nose.

You didn’t think anything could make you feel better, and the reality was until you got true aid, you wouldn’t heal. Not with the Devil coursing through your veins.

But the look on Soap’s face was hopeful, and you felt a nagging guilt if you were to deny him. It wasn’t often you got Soap alone, and you knew he had been the one to take the food to you in order to spend time with you. It would be downright barbaric to deny.

That was how you ended up with Soap feeding a spoonful of warm soup into your mouth, burning your turn at first taste with him snickering in apology and you glaring daggers.

He chirped your ear off, rambling about everything yet nothing at the same time. You laid and listened, occasionally throwing in your own piece, albeit shortly. Speaking fully was hard, even when you wanted to, but the soup had done wonders to your throat.

You reminded yourself to thank Ghost later. Even if he wouldn’t accept it.

“Have ye ever loved anythin’, birdie?”

The question was sudden, nothing like the ventures Soap had been going on about in order to occupy your mind. It took you off guard and you shifted your head to look at him, noting his curious expression.

Love was a strong word, and you knew your answer. You had been alone up until this point, and even then, the act of friendship was something you were still on the path of discovering.

“No,” you murmured honestly. “I have never felt that.”

Soap hummed, tapping his finger against his lip. “The Captain was quite jolly this mornin’,” he stated suspiciously. “He was still actin’ like a hound dog, don’t get me wrong. Barkin’ us around like his li’l workin’ mice, but there was somethin’ different. Ye know somethin’ ‘bout that?”

The two of you stared at one another, Soap holding a grin behind his hand, you appearing stumped. He was playing a game, even with you bedridden and suffering. He truly was a boy at heart.

“Acting different like Ghost does with you?” you bit back, Soap’s face dropping. “You are barking up the same tree, Soap.”

“Ach,” he tsked, throwing a hand up. “Ghost always say I’m too nosy for my own good. Thought the little birdie would have somethin’ for me to hear.”

You didn’t know why, but you felt you could entrust your heart with Soap. He never held judgement towards you, even from the beginning when he fought for your right to be treated fairly. He was a boy at heart, but a man when he needed to be.

“I’m afraid I do not,” you dismissed, rolling your head back forward to stare at the ceiling.

“Tch. Liar.”

You fell silent, as did he. You could practically feel him waiting for you to break, knowing it was brimming.

“I do not think what I say will be very good,” you confessed, tone growing soft.

“I have never forsaken ye,” Soap replied cooly, unfazed by your reservedness.

You frowned to yourself, knowing he was right. At the end of the day, Soap had been your supporter, even from afar.

“Is it bad to feel for more than one?” you asked, keeping your gaze glued to the ceiling.

Soap grew surprised, eyebrows raising. It wasn’t what he was expecting you to say, let alone ask him. “Ye said ye have never loved anythin’.”

“Because I have not.”

“Then what’s this yer speakin’ of?”

“Forget it.”

Soap cocked his head, taking in the way you seemed to shut in on yourself. While he was an open book, he’d dealt with plenty of introverted feelings with Ghost. It was nothing he hadn’t seen.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with feelin’ for more than one person,” he assured, eyes flickering over the side of your face. You could feel the heat of seriousness in the stare. “Hell, who cares if ye end up with more than one? More love to go around, aye?”

You took in his words, allowing yourself to feel comforted by it. You didn’t expect Soap to find it strange anyway, but to hear it outwardly put your mind at ease from the torn battle being fought within it.

“I feel for the Captain,” you murmured quietly, as if afraid to say it. “Yet I feel for Gaz. I am trapped.”

“Is that so?” he hummed, encouraging you to continue, yet you had not much to say. Your own words felt like vomit with anything wanting to come out being trapped in your throat. “Is there anybody else included in that picture?”

You knew what he was insinuating, and it made you nauseous. To confess that your heart pushed and pulled towards each of them in a way that had you longing, it was too much to say. You feared for the path you were strung along, though you feared veering off of it more.

“No,” you replied, missing confidence in your answer. You knew you were lying—you were just too frightened to admit it.

Soap blinked, weighing your answer. It felt as if he was hiding disappointment. You wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for the slight drop in his shoulders. “S’not that bad,” he dismissed, trying once more to make you feel better.

It only made you feel worse.

You no longer had a reply, opting for silence instead of conversation. You knew you could trust Soap with the information you’d given him, but there was an underlying feeling of something missing from the conversation, something you weren’t quite ready to address.

Sensing the shift, Soap shot you a smile, clapping his hands on his knees to stand. “I’ll be back later, dove. Ye know to yell if ye need anythin’.”

You highly doubted you’d have the energy to yell, but you nodded nonetheless, frowning at his back as he receded from the room.

You worried you hurt his feelings, but you weren’t sure why they’d be hurt in the first place—your own strange inner workings towards him and the others were nothing bad. He’d said so himself. Yet, the way he left so suddenly had your stomach sinking, thinking that you gave the wrong answer.

You watched the door for the next agonizing hour, blinking away sleep in hopes of catching the next person to come in. When nobody came in, you caved in, disappointed, slipping back into a restless sleep, losing the fight with your own mind and body.

The world was distorted around you, as if peering through a dense lens. You weren’t sure where you were, but all around you was an unsettling darkness surrounding a vast, empty land where nothing there seemed to thrive.

The grass beneath your bare feet was dead and dry, poking into your soles like little needles. The trees, albeit what was left of them, were thin and brittle, branches littering the ground around them. Buildings crumbled in pieces, standing broken and tarnished, the homes of what once lived here now vacant.

The world felt void of anything but disaster, showcasing its ugly teeth and rearing them into you.

You couldn’t recall if you’d ever been here before. There was a sense of familiarity in it, something that struck a chord with you.

The air filled your nostrils, breathing in old ash and faint smoke. It made your throat tighten and your eyes water, the scent shifting the more you consumed it, something more rotten poisoning it.

When you looked around, you realized your loneliness. Nobody was near you—not even Graves. It grew confusion, wondering whether this was one of his nightmares he loved to toy you with, or if this was entirely on your own.

Your body felt weightless, as if the pain you’d been suffering had vanished and you were nothing more than a feather. When you lifted a hand to touch your side, there was no agony. It was like you’d never been injured to begin with.

The world around you was eerily quiet. While it had a nostalgic feel, it had your hairs on the back of your neck standing.

You dared to take a step forward, your feet burrowing into the straw-like grass. The moment your foot touched the ground, everything morphed. Rather than the quiet runes of an old town, your ears nearly bled from screams and cries of hopelessness that filled the air.

Villagers ran frantic, seeking shelter from impending death. Women, men, children, they all were succumbing to their own horrible cruelties. Mother Nature offered no mercy on their souls, taking what she wanted and whatever stood in her way.

The homes were no longer rubble but burning in flames, villagers running for safety, coughing and hacking from the smoke that clouded around them in a dome. You felt the heat singe your skin, warming you from the inside and out.

You stood, horrified, unable to do anything but watch.

You knew why everything seemed so familiar—this was your home. You were watching it fall apart just as you’d done before, but this time, you knew the outcome before it arrived. Everybody around you would be dead once again, and you would be the unlucky survivor.

You attempted to move, but as if your feet were glued to the ground, you remained frozen, locked in a nightmare of watching everything you’d ever known crumble to pieces for a second time.

Why? Why were you being shown this? Why did you have to relive it? You didn’t understand, and the more you fought, the more disoriented you became.

Your gaze darted everywhere, frantic as you searched. It wasn’t until you realized the small bookkeep of your village that it was the only building left standing, unharmed. The flames hadn’t slithered inside, nor had it succumbed to destruction.

You tried your hardest to understand, to think of any reason why your mind was reliving this horrible memory, but the flames began to slink its way towards you, tickling your feet. Its ember grew, and you cried as the heat embedded into your skin.

You’d hardly visited the bookkeep, only on the occasion your curiosity on a subject got the best of you. It held no significant meaning to you. All the knowledge you earned was from your own research. So why?

You watched the fire dance around the building as if it were untouchable, killing everything in its wake while protecting the bookkeep. It hadn’t even touched its grass, keeping it green and vibrant compared to the soot-covered fields around it.

You desperately searched through your mind for importance. Even as the flames at your feet rose, you tried with all your might, hoping that anything of significance would cease the torturous pain and bring you back to your reality.

They rose and rose, until you could no longer think of anything but your melting skin and scorching body. You burned along with the villagers and could do nothing but accept it until you were swallowed whole, engulfed in your own personal hell.

“She’s a furnace, Cap,” Gaz said wearily, the back of his hand pressed to your forehead. “Whatever Graves did to her, it’s not givin’ us a lot of time.”

The Captain paced his quarters, hand dug into his beard, tugging.

Upon Gaz returning to feed you dinner, he found you clammy and burning, your skin hot to the touch. Your forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, the skin discoloring around your eyes to a meek gray. You were asleep, though God only knows for how long since Soap had left that morning.

“Captain,” Gaz tried once more, watching the man nearly rip his own hair out as he lost himself in his own muddled thoughts.

Price said nothing as if he hadn’t even heard Gaz. He was thinking up anything to stall your illness from whatever disgusting infection Graves mustered up, but he wasn’t a medic. That was your knowledge. He felt utterly useless.

“Price,” Gaz snapped, loud enough to garner the Captain’s attention. “Get a fuckin’ grip. Stress later, come up with a plan now.”

Price halted in his tracks, taking in a deep breath. He took the moment to calm himself, knowing Gaz was right in everything he said. He was a Captain, damn it, yet was falling apart at the sight of one of his own.

“We don’t have time for a professional,” Price stated, stepping up to your bedside where Gaz sat. He peered down at you, observing your sickly skin and pure exhaustion. “We’ll take her to a village doctor, a shrink, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. The nearest place, we take her to.”

Gaz released a sigh, glancing back at your crippled form. Broken ribs seemed to be the lesser worry. It was the ugly veins that only seem to travel further under your skin. They looked worst than they had been the night before, far worse.

“Nobody leaves her alone,” Price continued. “One of us will be here at all times until we make landfall.”

“I’ll stay,” Gaz offered immediately.

Internally, Price wanted to protest. He was Captain, he should take the responsibility, but his responsibility lied with the helm and manning the ship until his body gave out. It was his heart yearning to stay.

“I’ll let Soap and Ghost know,” Price replied. His hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw clenching uncomfortably. “None of you leave her fuckin’ side. Am I clear?”

Gaz stared at the Captain, noting the tension he held. He glanced back at you, a poor sight to see, and he nodded in agreement.

“No man left behind, aye, Cap?” Gaz tried.

Price grunted, giving him a clap on his shoulder. He gazed down at Gaz with an unreadable expression before shaking it off, storming out of the quarters to inform the others of the plan.

Gaz sat quietly, focusing on you. His heart was pained, seeing you so distressed. He did what he thought may comfort you, grasping your hand in his, rolling a thumb over your knuckles. There was nothing for him to do but get comfortable for the night and ride out the storm that Graves stowed upon them once again, promising to whatever God was listening that he’d fight through hell and back if anything were to happen.

You didn’t wake that day, nor the day after. You relived the nightmare over and over until it was engraved in your head, festering itself deep. It took nearly three days to awake, forcing your eyes open.

Your mouth was dry as cotton, eyes crusted over with endless sleep. Your body felt heavy, as if molded to the cot, and it took all your strength to move your head. You would’ve shrieked in surprise if your throat was hydrated enough.

Price slept beside you, faint moonlight as well as a trusty candle illuminating his peaceful features. He laid on his stomach, arms curled under the pillow and cheek pressed into it. He looked almost boyish like that, the worry exhausted from his face and replaced with a quiet calm.

It was the first you’d woken in the middle of the night to the sight of him. The times you’d spent in his bed before were ones you didn’t wake up to, only waking to an empty cot or falling asleep alone.

You couldn’t help but stare, studying every smooth feature. You almost felt it wasn’t real, that maybe this was a new nightmare forming and was playing tricks on you with a subtle beginning. But when you stared long enough, reality formed and you knew you were awake.

Your body was still hurting, though from being so still in slumber, it was more stiff than anything. You weakly lifted a hand, pawing at the Captain in attempts to rouse him.

As if he’d already been on edge, his eyes shot open, meeting yours. His expression quickly morphed into surprise, then relief.

“Dove,” he breathed, sitting up. He made an uncomfortable grunt from the stiffness in his muscles but was quick to ignore it, laser focused on you. “Are you alright?”

You opened your mouth to speak, an embarrassing squeak coming out. Price noticed instantly, shooting up from the bed.

“Water?” he asked, and when you nodded, he dipped from the room, leaving you alone.

You didn’t wait long, and you would’ve thought Price was running a marathon with the haste he made. He sat beside you, carefully curling his hand on the back of your head to lift it. He placed the cup to your lips, and you nearly moaned in relief once the water hit your tastebuds, flooding them with hydration.

“Better?” he asked, watching you gulp he beverage.

Once finished, you sighed, blinking away the soreness of your eyes. His hand remained on your head as he stared at you, worry lines forming between his brows.

You knew you looked even more hellish than before, but he didn’t seem to pay any mind, only concerned about making sure you were alright. It warmed the coldness in you, melting away the icy wall you’d built from the reoccurring nightmare you suffered.

“We’ll make landfall tomorrow,” Price explained, smoothing his knuckles along your cheekbone with his other hand. The affection caused you to relax. “Get you all better, aye? I know how much it hurts.”

You sluggishly nodded, content with the change of scenery rather than angry flames that burned you to death over, and over, and over. Though it’d only been three days, it felt like years.

“Home,” you murmured, voice still shot from weakness.

Price appeared confused, cocking his head. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone as he spoke. “Home?” he repeated. “What’s on your mind, dove?”

“Need to go home,” you mumbled softly.

“I don’t understand—”

“My village,” you explained, frowning.

Price stared at you, trying to read you. His eyes flickered between yours, displeased with the sickly bags surrounding yours. You looked void of life.

“You want to go home?” he tried, and when you nodded, he hummed. He knew you had no home to go back to, and so did you. It was rubble.

Rather than question your reasoning, he merely took it in stride, nodding in agreement. “We can go home, dove—after you get better. Alright?”

You knew you sounded silly, but the nightmare kept flashing in your head. The bookkeep—something was there, even in the ruins of it. It called to you in your dreams, and it stayed unharmed during mass destruction. There was nothing else for you to believe besides its calling.

Price glanced down at the bare skin of your ribcage where it peeked out from beneath the blanket, your dress still pulled up from when you’d shown Soap. They all made sure you remained decent, never wanting you to feel uncomfortable.

Whatever was plotting beneath your skin in the rooted veins, Price could only hope it wasn’t making you delirious. Hearing you utter words about home had him stuck, but he knew better than to not trust you—it was something he did with his life, now that he had you.

If it was home you wanted to be at, he’d take you. He only prayed you made it long enough to see it.

[mononijikayu]

to you 2,000... or... 20,000 years from now… — ryomen sukuna.

As they stand to leave, his gaze drifts to one of his portraits—a work that captures a moment from another time, another life. In it, the King of Curses sits beside his beloved concubine, her expression full of light and laughter, radiant in a way that suggests an unbreakable bond. Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face. Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine. He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation;

WARNING/S: post canon, future timeline, fluff, possible romance, getting together, mild angst, reincarnation, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, dreams and nightmares, distress, grief, feelings, physical touch, character death, moving on, flashback, humor, no curse future au, pining, light-hearted, happy ending, depiction of the future, depiction of reincarnation, depiction of letting go, depiction of flashback, depiction of getting together, depiction of depiction of character death, depiction of distress, depiction of grief, mention of character death, mention of the past, mention of letting go, mention of grief, reincarnated! sukuna, reincarnated concubine! reader;

WORDS: 15k words.

NOTE: this concludes the final part of the main story of the other woman. i'm genuinely grateful for you love and attention towards my story. this was never supposed to be a series, it was supposed to be a one off fic. but because of your love for concubine reader, i was inspired to bring more to her life.

as i promised, this is a happy ending. well, the happy end that i think would suit the story. of course, this is not the end of concubine reader's story. there will be drabbles of sukuna and concubine reader's life that i never managed to put out.

if you have any suggestion or questions about the story, you can drop some words down in the inbox!!! i'm very happy when you ask questions about the story or have suggestions of what you wanna see next!!! please do so everyone!!!

i hope you look forward to them!!! thank you for reading, thank you for your support and love. i'll continue to write for you all!!! i love you <3

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HE DOESN’T KNOW HOW HE’LL GET THROUGH THIS. He’d never felt like this before. What do his other artist friends call it? Oh, that’s right. A slump. An artist’s slump. Yeah, that’s what it’s called. He’s never had that before.

But why should he? Ryomen Sukuna was a protege. He was a stellar artist with a golden hand, one who never stops. The one who works as though he’s running out of time. It’s him. 

And yet, at that moment, he wasn’t.

Ryomen Sukuna had a problem.

He was stumped from hell and back.

And he doesn’t understand why.

A loud exhale releases from his mouth as he looks up at all the drying canvas in front of him in the various easels. They’re all beautiful, don’t get him wrong. But they’re all the same.

And that bothers Ryomen Sukuna as he purses his lips in a flat line. His own studio has become a homage to these paintings and sketches as of late. There was nothing else coming out of him. Nothing else was occupying his mind.

In the maze of half-finished canvases and dried paint of his studio, there were only those same eyes staring at him. He could feel it even now under the dim lighting casting long, wavering shadows across each and every tender gaze.

He couldn’t stand up anymore. He’s exhausted. He’s been up since god knows when. Everywhere there was paint. His hands are stained, his shirt splattered with colors that have long since dulled. It’s been weeks.

He doesn't know how to deal with this. How could he, when she finds him in every moment? How easy it was to be that way. He’s stopped keeping track of time, because time means nothing when all he can see, all he can paint, is her.

As of late, it was this that haunted him. It was the same as always. It was this woman with those kind eyes looking back at him. That same tender smile greeting him. That same beauty yearning towards him. Everything about the woman’s face consumes him. Everything that she is continues to follow him like a ghost, over and over. 

He can’t even pinpoint when it started. It just started happening out of nowhere. At one point there were normal dreams and soon enough, there were something else.

And as time passed by, there was nothing else left but her. Her beautiful smiling face looking at him. Every single time, she never fails to be warm towards him. As though she could feel him, as though she could see him.

She’s become more than a fixation; she’s an infection, seeping into every corner of his mind, haunting the hours he’s awake as much as those precious few where he drifts into a broken sleep.

She first appeared in his dreams like a fleeting whisper, but her image has grown, intensifying with each passing night, filling his dreams with a crescendo of color and dread. And over and over, it was repeating.

Like a piano key stuck on the board, playing over and over that same repetitive note. And yet, it was still lovely. It was still tender. And then suddenly, it wasn’t. That was the worst part of it all, he thinks. He captures the beauty of her and then suddenly, it just disappears. It goes. Almost like smoke. 

The dream is always the same every night. At first it was terrifying to him. He’d never seen anything like her before. He’d never seen what happened to her before, not to anyone. Not ever. But with her, it repeats.

That nightmare continues over and over again. And he hated it. He hated how he has memorized it. He has hated how it was all he could see over and over again. He hated how this was the fate that such a beautiful, kind woman had to meet.

That beautiful lady, she would stand there and smile at him. Often, she stands at the edge of a crumbling cliff, the ocean roiling and dark beneath her, waves crashing against jagged rocks far below.

She turns, her eyes fixed on him, lips curling into a smile that might be tender, might be mocking, it shifts each time, eluding any attempt to decipher it.

She extends a hand, beckoning, imploring him to come closer. His heart races, his feet propel him forward, but just as he reaches for her, she slips, and he’s left grasping at nothing but empty air.

Again and again, he tries to save her. Again and again, she falls.

The dream wakes him in a cold sweat, heart pounding, breath shallow. He stumbles to his studio, and without thinking, he begins to paint. Her face materializes with each stroke, her eyes holding secrets he can’t unlock.

Her smile flickering with a mystery that tightens his chest. He paints her until his fingers go numb, until his eyes blur from exhaustion. He paints her even when he’s on the verge of madness. And he hates it—hates her—but he’s powerless to stop.

The people around him have noticed the shift, though they don’t understand it. They speak of his new works with reverence, captivated by the haunting beauty of the unknown woman he’s made famous.

But they don’t see the toll she takes on him. They don’t see the shadow of sleeplessness etched into his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the wild desperation lurking just beneath his cool exterior.

Every time he tries to paint something else. Absolutely anything else, it does not work. Not anymore. He would feel his hands freeze, his mind goes blank, and all he can see is her smile.

She’s everywhere, a ghost in his waking hours, her gaze piercing through every wall he builds to keep her out. The thrill of creation is gone; all that remains is the raw compulsion to recreate her face, an act that feels more like exorcism than art.

Ryomen Sukuna slumps back into his chair, eyes trained on the painting before him, hands limp and smeared with shades of red and soft violet. Her face, the delicate arch of her brows, the smirk teasing at her lips. All of it stares back at him, alive, taunting. 

It’s as though she’s watching him, laughing softly at his obsession, fully aware of the hold she has over him. The painted eyes seem to flicker, and in his exhaustion, Sukuna wonders if he’s the one painting her, or if she’s the one reaching through the canvas, carving her image into his mind with a precision that leaves him helpless.

“Damn it. This is so annoying.” he mutters, his voice echoing hollowly in the quiet room. He reaches for his brush, the movement automatic, but his hand falters, dropping it back onto the table as he releases a frustrated sigh. 

The curse feels weak, a pitiful attempt to regain some control, but he knows it’s useless. She’s an endless riddle, one he’s compelled to solve yet doomed to never fully understand.

No matter how many times he paints her, he can’t capture her—not completely. The harder he tries, the more elusive she becomes, as though she’s slipping through his fingers, mocking his every attempt.

He sits there, shoulders slouched, the steady tick of the clock filling the empty space around him. Hours blur into each other, and yet he can’t bring himself to look away, his gaze locked on her face, that faint smile hinting at secrets she will never share.

And then, just as the clock strikes midnight, he hears it. That tender voice giving him grief. That warm voice turning him cold. That voice echoed that whisper, soft as a breeze, calling his name.

“My lord…..my lord Sukuna.”

He closes his eyes, the sound reverberating through him, familiar and yet so distant. She’s there, in his mind, like an echo carried across lifetimes, the warmth of her voice stirring something deep inside.

He knows it’s a dream, an illusion conjured by his own obsession, but he doesn’t care. For a brief moment, he lets himself lean into it, lets her voice wash over him like a balm.

“My lord, my beloved lord Sukuna…” Her voice is softer this time, coaxing, filled with a strange tenderness that he’s certain only exists in his imagination. He can almost feel her fingers trailing along his cheek, the faintest touch, leaving warmth in their wake.

“What do you want from me?” he murmurs, his voice a weary plea, barely audible, as if afraid to break the fragile spell she’s cast over him. “You’re there every night, haunting me, making me see you even when I close my eyes. But what do you want?”

In his mind, her laughter echoes, soft and familiar, as if she’s toying with him. “You know what I want, my lord Sukuna. You’ve always known.”

He clenches his fists, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Then tell me, damn it. Tell me what I need to do to set you free.”

“Set me free?” she repeats, and there’s a hint of amusement in her voice, as if the very idea amuses her. “Oh, my lord Sukuna… it’s not me who needs freeing.”

His breath hitches, her words cutting through him like a blade. The realization settles over him like a heavy weight, and he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she’s right.

She isn’t the one trapped here—he is. Bound by his own memories, his own regrets, unable to let go of the past that has woven her image into every part of him.

He opens his eyes, staring at the canvas again, her face seeming to shift. It was almost ever so easy for her to taunt him like that, to tease him. Everything about her gave him that feeling that overwhelms him. Feelings that he's never felt in his entire life.

He could feel her eyes glinting with a knowing look that sends a shiver down his spine. He reaches for the brush, hand trembling as he adds another stroke, trying to bring her into focus, to finally capture the essence of her that has haunted him. But no matter what he does, he can’t reach her, can’t grasp the fleeting vision that seems to dance just beyond his reach.

“I’ll keep painting you. I swear.” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with something close to desperation. “Every night, every dream, until you’re satisfied. Until you let me go.”

But he knows, even as the words leave his lips, that she won’t; she’ll never truly leave. She’ll linger there, a silent muse, a relentless force guiding his hand, embedding herself deeper with every brushstroke.

And he, trapped in this beautiful, maddening cycle, will keep painting her face, night after night, each canvas only revealing a fragment of her and yet never enough.

The clock ticks on, marking the hours that slip away in her wake, but he’s long since stopped noticing. She’s there, in every line, every shadow, every flicker of light on the canvas.

She’s his prison, his muse, his madness—and he knows, even as he tries to break free, that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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BY THIS POINT, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN FINISHED WITH HIS COLLECTION. Usually, Ryomen Sukuna finishes his pieces weeks ahead, leaving everyone else; especially Gojo Satoru—scrambling to catch up. Well, perhaps because he usually doesn’t work until he stops messing about. 

Still, the rivalry is a running joke among their peers. Gojo Satoru  would tease him endlessly, his voice loud and mocking. “The world might as well end if you didn’t finish first, Ryomen Sukuna. I’d have to check if hell froze over.”

Gojo Satoru would say with that infuriating grin, and Sukuna would just roll his scarlet eyes, barely dignifying it with a response. He didn’t need to—he’d simply outdo him, his work claiming the prime spot at the National Gallery, cycle after cycle. That’s just how it works for them.

But now, as the days tick by and his canvas remains trapped in this maddening loop, the weight of that old joke feels heavier. Maybe it would be better if the world did end, he muses grimly, his frustration boiling under the surface. Each day that he fails to paint anything else, fails to break free from this woman’s image—drains him. 

Every line, every shadow, every detail is etched with painstaking care, and yet each piece feels incomplete. He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes narrowing as he looks once more at the canvas, the same haunting face staring back.

Another artist would leave the piece for a day, perhaps even a week, and come back with fresh eyes. But not Sukuna. He’s stubborn, relentless. Yet this time, it feels as though he’s been bested, and that thought is infuriating.

A soft knock sounds at the studio door, but he doesn’t respond. The door creaks open, and he doesn’t need to look up to know who it is—he can practically feel Gojo Satoru’s grin from across the room. This was a rare visit from his rival and somewhat friend. But, he already regrets giving him his address.

“Not done yet?” Gojo drawls, strolling in with a lazy confidence, hands shoved into his pockets. “Well, this must be it—the end of the world. Should I start making apocalypse preparations?”

“Leave, Satoru.” Sukuna mutters, his voice a low growl. But Gojo just chuckles, unperturbed.

“Can’t. I live wayyyyyy tooo far. Besides, I came all this way to see the fall of the great Ryomen Sukuna. And boy, is it a sight.” Gojo steps closer, his gaze shifting to the canvas. “Her again, huh? Your mystery woman? I thought you were done with her!”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “Say another word, and you’ll be painting with your own blood.”

Gojo just laughs, crossing his arms as he leans back against the wall. “Fine, fine. But it’s… interesting, don’t you think? You, stuck on the same image, over and over. And all of this because of one woman.”

Sukuna can feel his patience fraying, each word from Gojo Satoru like sandpaper on a wound that refuses to heal. But Gojo doesn’t stop, his tone shifting from mocking to genuinely curious. It’s already giving him a headache.

“So, bestie……” he says, a glint in his bright blue eyes. “Who is she? A muse? Some long-lost love? Because whatever it is, you’re about to drive yourself mad over her.”

“She’s nothing.” Sukuna says sharply, but the words lack conviction. He doesn’t want to dive into it. Especially for Gojo Satoru. He’d only try to make it all a joke and laugh about it. “Just a woman. Just a damn face that refuses to disappear.”

Gojo Satoru couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow. “Nothing? Could’ve fooled me, seeing as she’s all you’ve painted for weeks. Either she’s ‘just a woman,’ or she’s haunting you.”

Sukuna clenches his fists, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I can’t… get her out of my head, no matter how many times I try. It’s like she’s taunting me. Every stroke feels like a chase, and I can’t catch her.”

For once, Gojo’s grin fades, a shadow of understanding passing over his face. “So that’s it, huh? You’ve finally found a challenge you can’t conquer. Even after all these years.”

Sukuna scowls, eyes narrowing. “It’s not a challenge. It’s… more than that.” His voice trails off as he glances at the painting, his expression a mixture of longing and frustration.

“Then stop,” Gojo says bluntly. “If she’s driving you insane, stop trying to capture her. Paint something else. Anything else. Get back to your work, to the craft that’s kept you sane all this time.”

But Sukuna only shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the canvas. “It’s not that simple, Satoru. I can’t stop. I need to understand… Why is she here? Why does she keep coming back to me?”

Gojo sighs, running a hand through his bright snow colored hair, clearly torn between amusement and pity. “Well, I can’t say I envy you. But maybe you should try looking beyond the canvas, for once.”

Sukuna scoffs, though a hint of doubt creeps into his expression. “You think there’s anything outside this room that could give me answers?”

Gojo shrugs. “Who knows? Sometimes the answers we need are the ones we’re not looking for. But if this is what’s keeping you chained…” he nods towards the door, his voice lowering, “then maybe it’s time to find out why.”

Ryomen Sukuna says nothing, his gaze flicking between Gojo and the woman’s face on the canvas. And as Gojo slips out the door with a knowing smile, Sukuna feels the weight of his words lingering, as if daring him to break free of the chains he’s crafted for himself.

Gojo Satoru stayed in his studio for a while; the entire time his head hurt. But he couldn’t help admitting that his frustration was put on hold and that he was grateful for it. Annoying as he was, it was better than suffering what he had been suffering with the woman that haunts him.

But when Gojo Satoru leaves, he finds himself unable to leave either. From the night before, he hadn’t really found himself to sleep. But if he was still being honest, he really doesn’t think he made any progress from the ones he had already made  that he feels happy about.

Well, except perhaps three more additions to his deluded dreams of this woman. He couldn’t stop with that. That was not something he could enjoy. It didn’t look good. He didn’t think it was the best he had ever done. He looks at his canvas again and squints his eyes. It was as though he was hoping that he had painted something else. But he knew he hadn’t. There was no need to double check. 

Okay, well, he should be more honest — it’s four now. This is the fourth one. The fourth one for a while and it’s only past lunch time the next day.  Wait, is it really lunch time? He looked around again and saw his clock. His mouth agape in shock. It’s already been a whole day? It’s already the blue hour? What the actual fuck is going on?

He groans as he puts down his paintbrush and covers his face with his hands. A loud groan echoes against his skin, reflecting that bitterness he feels. He was going mad, he’s genuinely sure that he’s really going mad. This time for real. The world is ending and he’s going mad.

Once more, Ryomen Sukuna sits slumped in his studio chair, the dim, cold light from the nearby cityscape casting a pallor over his face. How can this be possible? He's rubbing his temples, staring at yet another drying and yet truly unfinished portrait of her when a familiar voice cuts through his brooding. Ryomen Sukuna turned his back and turned it back once more, just as quickly.

Fuck, its Uraume.

Shit, shit. Is it already that time?

He hasn’t messaged them for two days.

How the fuck is he going to survive—

“Sukuna–san, you have the exhibition in two weeks, you know that!” Uraume reminds him, waking over with their tone both gentle and insistent. They’re standing at the edge of the cluttered studio, arms crossed, their eyes flicking between Sukuna and the growing stack of canvases lining the walls. “Everyone’s expecting new work, Sukuna–san. You can’t just say you aren’t producing anything when this is—”

He cuts them off with a frustrated wave of his hand, as if trying to dismiss both them and the exhibition out of his mind. “I know, I know, Uraume–san. You already know that I know. Don’t you think I know? I just…… What’s the point of even going here? It’s not…it’s not finished—nothing is complete.” 

“That’s not what you’re supposed to be telling me—”

“I know, I know.” His voice trails off, heavy with exhaustion. He looks at the half-finished canvas before him, her familiar eyes staring back, mocking him. “Look, I need time. Okay? Just a little more time to get over it. I promise. It will be done soon.”

Uraume steps carefully, sidestepping the mess of brushes, scattered paint, and half-finished canvases that litter the studio floor. Their usual calm is tinged with a hint of bewilderment, their brows furrowing as they glance over at Ryomen Sukuna, who sits slouched in his chair, staring blankly at the portrait before him. 

This is the first time they’ve seen him like this—so unfocused, so… lost. It’s unnerving. For as long as they’ve known him, Sukuna was always in control, his power and his confidence absolute. Nothing stumped him; nothing could shake him from his single-minded determination.

And yet, here he is, surrounded by portraits of a woman they’ve never met, trapped in a spiral of obsession that they don’t understand.

“Get over what, exactly?” Uraume asks, a soft but firm edge to their voice, breaking the silence that has grown heavy in the room. “The exhibition is practically sold out already. You are the star of this show—you know that.” 

They hesitate, crossing their arms as they study his profile. “If you let yourself slip now, you’re going to lose everything. They expect something… groundbreaking, something other than…”

Their voice trails off as they catch sight of another painting, and then another; all of them of her. Each one shows a different expression, a different tilt of her head, a different light in her eyes, but always the same haunting face. Uraume’s gaze lingers on the latest painting, her smirk, subtle yet all-consuming, as if she’s daring anyone who looks at her to understand.

They shake their heads slowly, exhaling in frustration. “This obsession of yours…” They struggle for the right words, their gaze hardening as they glance back at him. “I don’t understand it. Who is she? And why are you letting her control you like this?”

Sukuna looks up, his expression weary, but there’s a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes, a glint that only appears when he’s truly challenged. “You wouldn’t understand, Uraume–san.” he mutters, his voice low, almost as if he’s talking to himself. “No one would. Not unless you felt what she did to me.”

Uraume raises a brow, taken aback. This isn’t like him—this vulnerability, this almost painful honesty. They’ve seen Sukuna bring cities to their knees, watched him command fear and respect with the simplest look, but now? Now, he looks more like a man haunted than a man in control. 

“Then tell me, Sukuna–san.” Uraume says, their voice softening slightly, more curious than before. “What is it about her? Why does she matter so much?”

He leans back, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “It’s like… no matter how many times I paint her, she’s always out of reach, Uraume–san.” he says, his eyes flicking to the painting in front of him, the smirk that never changes. “Every stroke, every color—it’s as if she’s taunting me, daring me to try again, knowing I’ll never capture her.”

There’s a pause, the weight of his words settling between them, thick and tangible. Uraume takes a step back, their expression wavering. They’re used to seeing Sukuna drive toward a goal with relentless force, breaking anything that stands in his way. But this? This is something else. Something they can’t touch.

“Is she worth all this?” Uraume asks, more gently than they intended. “Worth losing your edge, your control?” They gesture to the canvases around them. “If she’s haunting you this much, perhaps it’s time to let her go.”

A dark laugh escapes Sukuna, low and humorless. “Let her go?” he repeats, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’ve tried, Uraume–san. But she’s there, every time I close my eyes. And I can’t…” He stops himself, the words caught in his throat. “She won’t let me go.”

Uraume watches him, feeling a pang of something they can’t quite name—pity, perhaps, or fear for what this fixation could mean for him. They take a step forward, daring to place a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re stronger than this, Sukuna–san.” they say softly, but firmly. “Whatever hold she has over you, it doesn’t control you. You’re the one in charge here, remember?”

For a moment, Sukuna seems to consider their words, a flicker of clarity in his eyes. But then he glances back at the canvas, at her knowing smile, and his face hardens, as if he’s resigned to the fact that he’s already lost.

“I thought so too, Uraume–san.” he murmurs, barely loud enough for Uraume to hear. “But I’m beginning to wonder… maybe she’s the one painting me.”

Uraume watches him in silence, feeling the cold truth of his words settle between them. They realize, in that moment, that they may be witnessing the unraveling of the man they thought was unbreakable. And for the first time, they wonder if he can even escape from the shadows of his own creation.

Sukuna follows their gaze, feeling a surge of irritation and helplessness. “It’s not that simple, Uraume–san. God, it’s just….” he mutters, running a hand through his messy fuschia hair, which is starting to look as unruly as he feels.

“She’s—she’s everywhere to me. And maybe that’s why she’s always here. Every time I try to start something else, there she is. Like a bad dream I can’t wake up from.” 

He glances at Uraume, searching their face for some flicker of understanding. “Don’t you get it? I need to work through this. You can’t just snap your fingers and make it go away. If I had magic, it would have been fine, but I just….”

“Then maybe make her part of it.” Uraume replies, unphased by his frustration. “People will want to see this obsession—whatever it is. But they won’t be satisfied with half-finished canvases of the same face over and over.”

He stands up abruptly, pacing, as if movement will shake off the weight pressing down on him. “It’s not an obsession,” he says, though the words sound hollow, even to him. “I just need… time. To figure this out. To move past her.”

Uraume watches him with a calm patience that only irritates him further. “You’ve had time, Sukuna-san. And every day, I’ve watched you do nothing but chase shadows.” They gesture to the rows of unfinished canvases, the dozens of faces that all share her haunting expression.

“Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, feeling the heat rise in his chest. He hates that Uraume, of all people, might be right. But how could he go deeper when she’s already consuming him? They should know that this is not what he needs right now. He needs support about this trying situation. He needs kindness about this. He needs—

He turns his eyes slightly and soon enough, they land on the first portrait he’s drawn of her. It was rough around the edges, it was true. But he was trying really hard to capture what he had found in her. He thought he would never see her again. That first time, it was all too interesting. Because he thought he would never see her again. And her smile would have been everything even that one time. 

That once would have been enough, it would have fulfilled him whole enough. That one portrait, that first one — it would have been enough for Ryomen Sukuna to feel like someone was always going to look at him kindly. 

That someone would always look at him with such tender eyes. He purses his lips in a line. Here she was. Once again, staring into his soul. Frozen in time. Looking towards him as though he was the world. As though life can only be known through looking at him. He gulped.

“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.” he says finally, forcing his voice to steady. “Just… let me handle it my way.”

Uraume sighs, a long, exasperated sound. “Fine. But remember, Sukuna–san, time waits for no one. Especially not for you.” 

And with that, they turn, leaving him alone once more in his dimly lit prison, with nothing but her face and the ticking of the clock to keep him company. Ryomen Sukuna could not move anymore for a while. He couldn’t. Not when you were looking at him like that.

The echoes of the night pangs into the slumber of the bright starry sky, and the silence in Ryomen Sukuna’s studio is absolute, broken only by the occasional soft creak of his chair or the quiet scratch of his brush against the canvas. And he despises it. Usually, he would be happy about that. It helps him focus on his work. 

Yet, he’s almost afraid to move or make more noise or appease the silence with his enjoyment. Ryomen Sukuna was afraid that if he does, he’ll break the spell that’s settled over him, the fragile connection that’s come alive between him and her.

This ghostly woman, this chasing woman who has rooted herself so deeply in his psyche. He knows she’s not real, and yet every inch of him feels as if she’s in the room with him, closer than a shadow, more vivid than any memory.

The woman on the canvas feels different this time. He’s pushed past the limits of his frustration and reached a depth of expression that feels raw, unnerving. Her face, no longer a series of lifeless shapes and colors, seems to breathe on the canvas. 

Her smile is softer now, her eyes almost… knowing. But the knowing isn’t comforting; it unsettles him, strikes some primal nerve deep inside. He steps back, shaking his head as if to clear it, to dispel the irrational thought that she’s looking back at him with intent, with purpose.

But even standing back, even half-closing his eyes, he can’t unsee her. She seems more real than ever before, like he’s peeled away another layer, only to find her hiding deeper within. He feels his heart beat faster, a slow wave of dread creeping into his veins. How can a face he created himself feel so alive? So sentient?

He backs away from the canvas, his hands covered in paint, feeling a chill settle over him. He’s been pushing himself to exhaustion these past few weeks, painting her in every possible way, but this—this feels different, like he’s crossed an invisible line. For the first time, the compulsion to paint her is laced with fear.

Still, he can’t look away. Her presence fills the room, and he feels the weight of it like a physical force. His eyes roam over her face: the faint shadows around her eyes, the suggestion of pain hidden in the tilt of her lips, the look of sorrow mingling with defiance. Each detail tells a story he’s not sure he wants to know, yet he’s desperate to understand it.

Uraume’s words echo in his mind again: Maybe you don’t need to get past her. Maybe you need to go deeper, to figure out what she’s trying to tell you.

He shudders, the thought reverberating through him. What if this woman, this apparition, isn’t just an accident of his imagination? What if she’s here for a reason, some purpose he’s been too afraid to uncover?

He recalls the dreams—the cliff, the ocean raging below, the way she extends her hand to him with that haunting smile, beckoning him forward only to disappear again and again. It’s always the same. He can’t save her, but he can’t let her go.

He’s always believed that his art comes from somewhere deep within him, from emotions he doesn’t fully understand, from memories he can’t articulate. But this feels different to him. He had never dealt with this before. 

It was almost as if it’s coming from outside of him, as though she’s reaching through the boundary of his mind, using his hands as a conduit. He lets out a shaky breath, clutching the paint-stained edge of his workbench. Is this woman, this image, an echo from his past? A ghost? Or something darker, something he’s unlocked without meaning to?

The thought stirs something in him, a strange, unexplainable pull to keep going, to lose himself in this process of bringing her fully to life. He walks back to the canvas, hand trembling as he picks up his brush once more.

This time, he paints her hand, reaching out, as if extending toward him. The fingers are delicate, almost ghostly, and he layers shadows beneath them, giving them depth, weight. He works until the details blur, until his vision is smeared with exhaustion.

He steps back again, chest tight. Her hand stretches toward him now, inviting him, her fingers just a breath away. The air in the room feels thick, electric, as if she’s drawing him closer, beckoning him to cross some unseen line. He reaches out instinctively, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the canvas.

In that instant, a shiver courses through him, the chill going bone-deep. He feels his hand pull back, but it’s as if something is holding it there, holding him in place. His heart races. He hears the ticking of the clock, each tick louder, more insistent. The woman on the canvas seems closer now, her eyes sharper, more alive, her expression shifting as though she’s on the edge of speaking.

He tears his hand away, stumbling backward, the sudden movement jarring him back to himself. His studio comes into focus, the familiar mess of paint and brushes scattered around, the quiet hum of the city outside. But she’s still there, her face on the canvas, watching him with that faint, knowing smile.

His heart still pounding, he grabs his coat and stumbles out of the studio, leaving her behind, feeling her gaze burning into his back even as he shuts the door. The air outside is cold, crisp, and he gulps it down, trying to shake off the feeling that he’s walked out of a nightmare he can’t wake from.

But even as he steps into the city streets, even as the lights and the noise surround him, he can still see her in his mind, as clearly as if she were standing beside him.

And he knows, with a strange certainty, that no matter how far he runs, she’ll be waiting for him, waiting in the studio, in his dreams, until he finally dares to confront whatever truth she holds.

══════════════════

HE REALLY CAN’T HELP IT. Ryomen Sukuna’s heart hammers in his chest, louder than the muffled hum of voices in the museum, louder than the memories raging through his mind. He stands frozen, his scarlet eyes locked onto her.

This was the woman from his dreams, the face he painted until his hands went numb, until his sanity frayed. The woman he has known is like the back of his hand. She’s here, in the flesh, not on a canvas or a hazy memory, but real, close enough to reach out and touch. And yet, at this moment, she feels farther away than ever.

The woman doesn’t notice him. Of course she wouldn’t have. Why would she? He doesn’t expect her to know what he’s feeling now. She’s oblivious to the storm her presence has unleashed in his chest, the way his pulse spikes as he watches her, every nerve in his body caught between reaching for her and running away. 

She’s gazing intently at the displays, her head tilting thoughtfully as she studies each artifact, and with each subtle movement, she reminds him achingly of her—of the woman he’d known in that past life, his concubine, the one he’d lost so long ago. She has that same air of quiet intensity, that gentle focus, the same soft curiosity he remembers.

And then she steps closer to the display holding the hairpin. That hairpin—the one he’d given to his concubine as a symbol of the promise he couldn’t keep, the one she had treasured even on the darkest nights, when the weight of their hidden love had pressed heavy upon them both. The hairpin he’d clasped in her hair before she was taken from him.

The sight of it had been a punch to the gut even before he saw her. But now, watching this woman—a stranger, yet painfully familiar—reach out as though to touch the glass, Sukuna feels something crack open inside him, a wound he’d buried lifetimes ago tearing fresh and raw.

She lifts her hand, her fingers hovering near the glass, her eyes lingering on the hairpin with a look he recognizes—sadness, longing, nostalgia she can’t possibly understand.

Her face is calm, her expression serene, but he knows that look, knows that feeling. Does she feel it too? Does she feel the echo of something lost, something distant yet so deeply embedded in her soul?

His own hand trembles at his side. He wants to go to her, to pull her aside, to demand to know if she remembers, if somewhere in her heart she feels that same aching void he’s carried for centuries. But the reality sinks in, cold and unyielding: to her, he’s a stranger. 

She has no idea who he is. She doesn’t remember their stolen moments under moonlight, their whispered vows, the quiet, forbidden love that had bound them tighter than any promise. She doesn’t remember his face, doesn’t know the agony he’s endured, living each lifetime haunted by her ghost, painting her face in the desperate hope it might bring her back.

And yet, the hairpin calls to her. He watches her, rooted to the spot, as she studies it with a reverence she can’t name, can’t explain, an inexplicable connection to something lost to time. He can almost see the weight of her past life hovering over her like a shadow she doesn’t even know is there.

Sukuna’s fingers twitch, aching to touch her, to break this unbearable silence and tell her everything: that he’s waited lifetimes for her, that he’s dreamed of her every night, that every stroke of his brush was a desperate attempt to remember her, to reach her, to feel even an echo of what they once had. But how could he explain that? How could he unload centuries of grief, of longing, on her shoulders, when she doesn’t even know his name?

She turns, moving slowly to the next display. But for a single heartbeat, her gaze drifts in his direction. Their eyes meet, and in that split second, the air thickens, everything around him falling away. Her eyes—those same eyes, dark and deep, full of questions and secrets—fix on him, and he feels the weight of their shared history settle like a heavy cloak over them both.

He watches as something flickers in her gaze, an almost imperceptible flash of recognition. She blinks, and it’s gone, but he clings to it, desperate. Did she feel it, even if only for a moment? Did she feel the weight of a life before, a life they shared, a love they lost?

But she turns away, her brows furrowing slightly, as if shaking off a strange thought, and the moment shatters, leaving him stranded in a sea of regret and unspoken words. She disappears around the corner, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows of the exhibit.

A bitter pang cuts through him, deeper than anything he’s felt in centuries. She’s here, alive, within his reach, and yet she’s still lost to him. He’s still haunted by the echo of her smile, the shadow of her memory, the woman he could never save.

Slowly, Ryomen Sukuna forces himself to step away, his gaze lingering on the hairpin. He clenches his fists, feeling the familiar sting of regret, of promises broken, of lives tangled and torn apart.

He’d thought he was prepared to face her, though he could handle the pain that would come with seeing her again. But the reality is raw and relentless, tearing open old wounds he thought were healed.

In that moment, he was the only one who knew the truth: he’ll always be trapped in this cycle, drawn to her only to watch her slip away. No matter how many times he finds her, she’ll always be just out of reach, a dream he can never wake from.

Ryomen Sukuna’s heart nearly stops when he feels a soft hand on his arm, drawing him back to the present. His present. In front of this woman, this woman who haunted him with everything and anything in him.

“Are you… okay?” the woman asks, her voice gentle, her eyes warm with concern.

He’s stunned, his breath catching as he looks down at her, the stranger with the face he’s known all too well, the stranger who feels like a ghost comes to life. But he forces himself to gather his thoughts, to act like this is a normal interaction with a stranger, even though every nerve in his body feels charged with recognition.

“Ah… yes, I’m….I’m good.” he finally says, his voice rough but steady. “I just find the gallery… interesting.” The words feel absurdly inadequate, but it’s the only thing he can manage.

A small smile breaks over her lips, and the sight of it sends a sharp pang through him. It’s so familiar, so achingly familiar, that he has to clench his fists to keep himself grounded. She glances around the exhibit, her expression softening with a hint of pride.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, stranger.” she says. “It was… hard to tell the story. To do it justice, I mean.” Her gaze returns to his, warm and inviting. “I’m a Mikoto, by the way. A descendant of Hiromi.”

He feels his heart stop at the name, and it takes him a beat to respond. “Ryomen… Ryomen Sukuna, that’s my name.” he says, his voice catching slightly as he introduces himself. 

He could only watch as her eyes widened in surprise, and she studied him, the weight of recognition glinting faintly in her gaze, though she didn't seem to realize its true depth. She probably did not expect him to have that name, that exact name, also.

“A descendant of Hiromi, too?” she asks with a soft laugh, her expression open, friendly. When he doesn’t answer, she shakes her head with a lighthearted smile. “It’s okay. The family’s too big for everyone to know where they come from anyway.”

He nods stiffly, a bit overwhelmed, struggling to keep his composure as memories flicker before him. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he aches to tell her, but he swallows it all down, letting the silence sit between them, as heavy as it is fragile.

Then, gathering his nerve, he glances at her. “Can I… can I ask you something about the exhibit? About Ryomen Sukuna?”

She tilts her head, curious. “Of course, you can.” she says. “But fair warning—it’s going to be a long story. A sad story.”

He meets her gaze, and in that moment, he sees a flicker of recognition in her eyes, something deep and familiar that calls to him. He nods. “That’s okay.” he says softly. “I think I need to hear it.”

She studies him a moment, as if trying to understand his need to know. Judging from her own reaction, it's a difficult story to even try and tell. But he was curious. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he wanted to know so badly.

He wanted to know more than anything how these two people lived. How she lived, that woman in his dreams — the woman right in front of him. He looks at her tenderly, curiously. And she nods, a quiet understanding in her expression. 

“Ryomen Sukuna… and his concubine. Their stories are really not easy. Nor is her own. His concubine’s story is difficult. She led a long, sad life. They were together for a long time, longer than Sukuna and Hiromi were wed.” Her eyes lowered, the sight gleaming with sorrow as she touched the glass, trying to reach for the hairpin. 

“She was devoted to him, in all the ways that one could describe devotion. And yet….she suffered under him… Quite a lot, if we’re to be honest. She gave him a son and she lost him and his indifference at times, it broke her.” She hesitates, glancing at him before continuing. “Though in his own way, he loved her. But well, was it enough? We cannot truly tell. From what we know from Ryomen Chiharu, she died without knowing. But perhaps, those are claims.”

The words pierce him like a knife. Hearing it from her lips, from her gentle voice, makes it all feel too real. The bitterness, the heartbreak, the weight of it all surges within him, yet he can’t look away from her. Is that what she has had to live through all that time? Was it only the heartbreak she had lived through? In that past life, in her past life — was it just grief born out of more, one after the other? Is that why she kept falling to her death? Suffering in all that pain? 

“If he had loved her then….” Sukuna could feel some sense of anger bubble through him. “Why is it not ever clear, his feelings? If you love someone, you….you tell them! You make them know when they’re alive. Not when they’re gone! What kind of man is he? Is he even a man at that point? That’s cruel….That’s…..”

In that moment, her eyes turned wide as she gazed at him. She had seen people get angry on behalf of the long suffering concubine of the King of Curses. That was normal, to feel anguish on her behalf. And yet, this mayhaps is the first time he’s ever seen someone so infuriated. And aggrieved. And bitter. Truly, in the sense of the word. Her heart felt warm about that. 

She smiles softly at him and places her hand on his own. “You know….he still did care. Even if he was a terrible man. In some ways.”

“Even then—”

“Come with me, stranger!” she says, her voice soft as she takes his hand, her touch sending an electric shock through him. She leads him to a long table draped in dark fabric, a single scroll lying open at the center. It was a magnificent piece of work.

In the middle was her, that concubine. With her elegant features and her bright eyed gaze, her tender smile that could bring life to a mundane world. The colors illuminated her with such ethereality that one couldn’t even understand. It would have taken much too much time to do this in their lifetime, during the Heian Era.

 And yet, it was so carefully made, carefully thought of. So full of devotion to her, details that one couldn’t even find in any other portraiture in that time. Sukuna could only watch as her fingers glide along its edge with a reverence that pulls him in, as though she’s sharing a secret between them. Her smile grows wider.

“This is painted and written by Sukuna himself, mayhaps, a few years before she passed.” she whispers, her eyes shining as she looks at him. “We don’t know, if he had painted and made this in secret. Or if she had known and seen it.  But….it was to her… a message. From him to her.”

The scroll is faded, ink blurred by age but unmistakable. And as Sukuna reads it, he feels his breath leave him, his pulse racing as he takes in the words he never thought he’d see again. In ancient script, barely visible, are the words he remembers writing so many lifetimes ago, a promise that felt foolish and desperate even as he wrote it:

“To you, my little one, from a thousand years to another twenty thousand years from now, you who will continue to be dear to me.”

His vision blurs, and he forces himself to swallow down the ache rising in his chest. How is that man ever so contradictory? How could he cause her hurt and then do…do something like this? How can one ever make amends, or show love, knowing they had caused grief and pain and suffering? 

He purses his lips, his face echoing in conflict. He could feel his hand tighten in a fist. The woman he saw in his dreams, and the woman he sees before him now. How they both suffered to get to this point. 

That smile a thousand years ago, so gentle and yet….so pained. And now, so beautiful and serene, happy. Truly so happy. He couldn’t help but be so overwhelmed by emotion. By all of this. She looks up at him, her face soft with empathy and warmth, her hand still resting lightly on his arm.

“What kind of person do you think could write something like that?” she asks gently, studying his reaction.

He swallows, searching for the right words, his voice barely a whisper. “Someone who knew… he’d never find peace without her.” he says, almost to himself, his gaze lingering on the scroll. “Someone… who wanted more time.”

Her eyes meet his, something unspoken passing between them, a quiet understanding that hangs thick in the air. She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts, her gaze softening, as if she’s sensing something she can’t quite place, something from another life pressing against the present.

In that moment, he knows he can’t tell her, can’t burden her with the weight of it all. This life may not hold the memory, the pain, the love he’d lost, but here she stands, still at his side. The universe, fate, something unknown has brought them here, and for now, in this fragile moment, it’s enough.

Sukuna’s mind swirls, each beat of his heart drumming louder against the silence that now surrounds them. The faint traces of this man’s ancient words—his promise, his plea—are scrawled on the scroll, untouched by time. 

The weight of it feels unbearable, as if this fragile piece of paper holds not just a message from the past but the entirety of his soul. He risks a glance at her, the woman with his concubine’s face, her warmth, her spirit.

She’s watching him with an intensity that pulls him back from his reverie. “I wonder if he ever found her, if he was ever reborn and given new life.” she murmurs, more to herself than to him. “If… across all that time, they somehow managed to find each other again. And are more truthful to each other. I always thought that, even when I was a child. I hoped and prayed that they found happiness together in a new life.”

Her words send a chill down his spine. He wants to tell her they did, that he’s standing here, right now, because of her. But he knows he can’t—no matter how much his heart aches to reach out, to let her in on the truth he’s carried alone for so long. The curse of knowing, of remembering, is his burden alone.

Instead, he lets his fingers drift across the edge of the scroll, keeping his gaze lowered. “Maybe he never stopped searching. Even if he is reborn. Maybe if he doesn’t remember it all. He should find her and make amends.” he says softly. “Maybe that’s why his name and his memory linger even now. So that she’ll notice. And…maybe they’ll live the way you want them to.”

She tilts her head, considering him, her smile touched with the slightest hint of sadness. “That’s a beautiful thought. Almost… almost as if he’s still out there, waiting. Even if he had to endure every lifetime alone.”

Sukuna swallows, struggling to keep his composure. “Sometimes, we don’t have a choice, about it all.” he says, his voice low. “We’re bound by memories we can’t remember, by the promises our futures will have to remake, even if we have to carry them alone.”

She studies him for a moment, her expression thoughtful, as if she’s trying to glimpse the truth beneath his words. “That sounds like something he would have said, perhaps….perhaps to her.” she murmurs, almost to herself.

The weight of her gaze feels like a hand pressing against his heart, pulling him toward her, tethering him in a way that feels more ancient than memory. But she turns her attention back to the scroll, breaking the spell, and a soft smile touches her lips as she reads the words he once wrote.

“You know,” she says after a pause, “my family used to tell stories about Sukuna. He’s more of a legend now than a real person, but there are so many conflicting tales. Some say he was ruthless, others say he was capable of great kindness. I’ve always been fascinated by that contradiction.” She glances up at him, eyes alight with curiosity. “What do you think? Was he a monster… or was he something more?”

Sukuna’s breath catches at the question, the answer sitting like a stone in his throat. How can he possibly explain that the truth was more complicated than either legend or history could capture? That he was both and neither, a man torn by his own humanity and haunted by a love he couldn’t protect?

“It’s hard to say what he was.” he answers carefully. “Maybe he was both. A monster to some, but to others… he was someone who gave everything he had. No one is….no one is truly a villain, after all.”

She nods slowly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “I like that answer.” she says quietly. “I think we all have pieces of light and shadow inside us. Maybe he was just… someone trying to find a balance, even if he had caused so much hurt. Even if he had failed.”

The irony cuts deep, the tragic poetry of her words like salt in an old wound. Her voice is gentle, but there’s a conviction in her tone that makes his chest tighten. If she knew the truth—if she knew what he’d lost, the sacrifices he’d made—would she still look at him this way, with this soft reverence and understanding?

Lost in thought, he hardly notices her reaching for his hand. Her fingers wrap around his, warm and grounding, and he’s stunned by the simple, natural ease of her touch, as though they’ve done this a thousand times before. Her hand fits perfectly in his, and for the first time in centuries, a glimmer of hope stirs within him.

“Come with me again, stranger.” she says, leading him past the scroll and into a smaller room at the end of the hall. “There’s something else I want you to see.”

They walk in silence, and he lets her guide him, his heart racing, wondering if perhaps, just maybe, she’s starting to feel the pull too—the invisible thread binding them across lifetimes. She stops in front of a display case holding a small, intricately carved pendant, its silver chain gleaming under the soft lights.

“This pendant, it was passed down to Ryomen Chiharu, after a few years.” she says, gazing at it with a fondness that surprises him. “It belonged to her. His concubine. One of the only things she kept close to her heart.”

Sukuna stares at it, his mind reeling. The pendant was once his gift to her, that King of Curses—a token, a promise of protection. Seeing it now, preserved and cared for, feels surreal, a whisper of the life they once shared. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, his voice thick with emotion he’s barely keeping in check.

He wondered, maybe if it was the right time, the right place. If he hadn’t been so enthralled with another — maybe it would have been a match that would have ended with less pain and more joy. Perhaps if the King of Curses had found himself able to move forward, he would have been happier. Maybe his concubine would have been happier. 

But that was a thousand years ago. And humanity keeps making that same mistake. Little by little, you could find people repeating it over and over again. That makes Sukuna so bitter and sad, grievous and angry all at once. How could fate be so twisted? How could fate seem so indifferent to it all? How could…how could fate not stop such suffering of people who wish to be happy? 

“I always thought it was sad, you know?” she continued, her tone soft. “She must have known he’d never be hers completely. But she still kept this close to her heart.  Thinking of him. It’s like she never stopped hoping.”

Sukuna’s throat tightens, the weight of her words pressing into the raw ache within him. “Hope….hope is fragile.” he echoes, his voice hollow. “It can be a painful thing to carry, especially when there’s no chance of seeing it fulfilled.”

Her gaze turns up to him, searching, as though she can sense the depth of his grief but can’t name its source. “Maybe.” she says, her voice a whisper. “But sometimes… hope is all we have.”

He looks away, afraid she’ll see the truth in his eyes. He wonders if she understands, if somewhere deep down, a part of her remembers. But even if she doesn’t, he can feel her empathy, her gentle warmth reaching out to him, soothing his restless spirit.

She squeezes his hand, her touch gentle and grounding. “Thank you,” she says, smiling softly. “For listening to her story with me. I know it’s heavy, but… it’s part of our legacy, isn’t it?”

He nods, his heart raw and open, feeling the weight of the centuries fall away, even if just for this fleeting moment. It’s not enough—not enough to heal the wounds, to bring back what they’d lost—but for the first time, he feels something close to peace.

And in that silence, in her quiet smile, he dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, there will be a way to find and know each other again. She was right there. He likes to think she is. Right in front of him. There was hope, somehow. 

That she would be happy. That maybe, just maybe – he could see her smile so beautifully again. A smile that would reach all the way to her eyes and warm her face and towards the reach of all the heavens.

Sukuna stands there, his fingers still brushing the edge of the glass case, the pendant gleaming faintly beneath his touch. He feels an unfamiliar warmth stirring within him, a strange, hesitant urge for something… more, something real and tangible. He looks down at her, her expression still soft with that quiet empathy that unsettles him as much as it comforts him.

Before he can second-guess himself, he clears his throat, casting a sidelong glance her way. “Would you, uh… would you like to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks, a bit gruffly, as if trying to sound casual. “Maybe you could help me with some ideas for my art. I’m….an artist by the way. ”

The question hangs in the air between them, and for a moment, he feels exposed in a way he hasn’t in centuries, like he’s offering a piece of himself he’s long since hidden. He braces himself for rejection, for her to smile politely and turn him down.

Sukuna watches her smile, a genuine, radiant expression that spreads across her face like dawn breaking over a darkened sky. It’s infectious, igniting something deep within him, as though it was a feeling that has lain dormant for centuries beneath layers of pain and regret. 

Everything in him felt warm inside. Everything in him grasped to life, hoping that she could nourish it to last forever. Her acceptance feels like a lifeline thrown into the stormy sea of his existence, and he clings to it with a desperation he can’t quite articulate.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect, stranger.” she says, her voice a gentle balm against the jagged edges of his heart. “Oh, I should stop calling you that, shouldn’t I? My apologies, Sukuna–san. I wanted to tease you for a little more time.”

As she writes her number on a slip of paper, the world around them fades into a blur. The museum, the exhibits, the weight of history—all of it dissolves until it’s just the two of them, suspended in this fragile moment of connection.

He takes the paper from her, fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. It sends an unexpected spark through him, and he’s momentarily lost in the warmth of her skin, the softness of her touch. He forces himself to pull away, catching her gaze again, wanting to savor the moment a little longer.

“What do you like to drink?” he asks, trying to keep the conversation going, to stretch this fleeting connection into something more tangible.

“Coffee, mostly. I love a good espresso.” she replies, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “But I’m always open to trying new things. I’m sure the cafe will have new wonders. How about you?”

He nods, remembering the countless cups of coffee he’d consumed over the years, each one a bitter reminder of the countless sleepless nights spent alone. “I’m more of a dark roast person myself. Stronger the better.”

“Then I’ll make sure to introduce you to the best place in town. They have the most incredible brews, fit for a long suffering artist.” she says with a playful grin, and for the first time, he can’t help but smile back. It’s a small, simple thing, but it feels monumental, like a bridge forming over a chasm he thought would always divide him.

“Great….I uh….” he replies, his voice a little steadier. “I look forward to it.”

They linger for a moment, both seeming to hesitate, caught in a bubble of anticipation and something deeper that he can’t quite name. He’s never been one for lighthearted interactions, especially when it comes to connections. Yet here he is, standing before a woman who feels like a piece of his lost history, someone he feels inexplicably drawn to.

With one last lingering look, she steps back, her smile still warming the air between them. “See you soon, then, Sukuna–san.” she says, her voice light yet meaningful.

“Yeah….. I’ll see you soon.” he echoes, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches her walk away, the soft sway of her figure leaving him breathless.

As he turns to leave the gallery, the weight of the memories of a thousand years presses less heavily on him. He had left behind Sukuna's world, and birthed a new. He hopes he can. He wants to. He wants to make that woman happy. She deserves to. She deserves to be happy, in the way he couldn’t do it. He promises himself that.

For the first time, he feels a flicker of inspiration reigniting in his chest, like a spark that’s been waiting for just the right moment to burst into flame. The idea of coffee, of sharing thoughts and laughter, of discussing art with someone who understands the nuances of his legacy—it excites him in a way he hadn’t felt in what seems like an eternity. It excites him to burn with joy.

The streets outside are bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, the colors alive and vibrant, reminding him of the canvases he has yet to fill. He can almost picture it now, a new piece forming in his mind—a swirling mix of shadows and light, of loss and hope, reflecting everything that has led him to this moment.

In the days and nights that follow, he begins to sketch again. The woman’s face, a beautiful blend of familiarity and freshness, dominates the canvas, layered with strokes of longing and the bittersweet pang of memory. He paints her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and the gentle warmth that radiated from her smile.

Every brushstroke feels like a conversation, a way to weave their stories together—a blend of art, history, and the unspoken connection that binds them. The artist’s block that had once felt insurmountable begins to crumble, each session at the easel pulling him deeper into his thoughts and feelings, and farther from the suffocating grasp of despair.

He dreams of their meeting, the way her presence felt like coming home, and as their coffee date approaches, he finds himself wrapped in a mix of excitement and nerves. What would they talk about? What would she think of his art?

That evening, as he stands in front of the mirror, he catches a glimpse of himself—disheveled fuschia colored hair, weary bright scarlet eyes; but beneath it all, there’s a glimmer of something he hasn’t seen in ages: hope. A hope for the future. A hope for a new world, a new life. One that will echo years and years from now about joy.

Tomorrow, he tells himself as he brushes down his shirt, it will be different. 

Tomorrow, he’ll make her the happiest person in the world.

Tomorrow, he’ll hope that she will never have any more days to frown.

When the sun rises, he feels it all too well. There was a flutter of anticipation in his chest as he prepared to meet her. Each step feels lighter, each moment filled with possibility. The thought of sharing coffee and stories—his past entwined with hers—ignites a spark of creativity he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

As he enters the café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee envelops him, and he scans the room, searching for her familiar face. When he spots her, seated at a cozy corner table, her hair cascading softly around her shoulders, he feels a rush of warmth.

Her smile brightens the space around them, and as their eyes meet, he knows he’s ready to embrace whatever this connection holds. It’s a chance to delve deeper into their stories, to explore the tangled threads of fate that brought them together.

“Hey!” she says, her voice lighting up the air between them as he approaches. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” he replies, the weight of the past lifting as he takes a seat across from her. “So, what’s first on the menu?”

As you sit together, enveloped in the warmth of shared memories and laughter, Sukuna leans forward, his gaze both intense and gentle. The edges of his usually guarded expression soften, and the small lines near his eyes deepen with a smile that’s almost boyish.

“You know," Sukuna says, his voice low and thoughtful, “I have to say this to you… but… I never thought I’d find someone who could understand me like this. The things I’ve seen—it’s hard to explain to people who haven’t lived through the same nightmares."

He glances down at his coffee, a faint smirk on his lips. “But with you, it doesn’t feel like explaining. It’s like I’m just… remembering with someone else who was there too. This feels so natural. Between you and I.”

She smiles, feeling a warmth blossom within her. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I mean, if someone had told me even a month ago that I’d be here with you, talking like this…” She trails off, laughing softly, feeling a little lost for words. “I would’ve thought they were crazy. But here we are.”

Sukuna chuckles, the sound surprisingly warm, free of his usual biting edge. “Crazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He pauses, his gaze meeting hers, searching as if he’s trying to decipher something hidden. “It feels like I know you… not just from now, but from a long time ago. Almost like I was meant to find you.”

His words send a shiver through her, a feeling both comforting and unsettling in its intensity. She nods slowly, letting the feeling settle within her. “I know what you mean,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath. “It’s like we’re picking up where we left off… wherever that was.”

He takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving hers. “Every lifetime,” he murmurs, as if saying it to himself. “Every single one, I think I’d find you.” His hand drifts across the table, his fingers brushing hers in a tentative, almost reverent way. “And every time, I’d be the luckiest man alive.”

She looks down at his hand, his touch grounding her. “Do you believe in that, then? In soulmates? Lifetimes together?”

He smiles, almost a little sadly, as if unsure of his own answer. “Maybe I never did before… but with you, I can’t help but think maybe I was wrong.”

A comfortable silence settles between them, the words hanging like a delicate thread binding them together. After a while, he speaks again, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You… you make me see things differently, you know that? I just met you, but I just… I think it’s meant to be.”

There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one she’d never expected to see. “Like maybe life doesn’t have to be as lonely as I thought it was. Or maybe, it just doesn’t matter, as long as I’m here… with you.”

Her heart aches at his words, sensing the pain he’s carried and the hope he’s now daring to hold onto. She laces her fingers with his, giving a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Sukuna-san,” she says softly. “Not as long as we have this. As long as we have each other. Maybe… maybe we’ll find something more to life together.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. When he opens them again, there’s something raw, something almost fragile in his gaze. “I’m… I’m honored,” he whispers gently, a small smile forming on his face. “If that means I’ll be able to live by your side in this life.”

She blushes, feeling the depth of his sincerity. “I’m just as grateful, you know?”

“Thank you.” he says, the words rough, yet sincere. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You never have to say thank you to me.” She whispered back to him, smiling even wider. “Or say sorry. Okay?”

“Okay.” He smiles back at her, almost contagiously. 

“So, do you….do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

“I’d be honored.”

In that moment, it feels as though nothing else exists—just her and him, caught in the quiet gravity of each other’s presence. 

As the sun sets outside, casting a warm glow over their table, Ryomen Sukuna feels a flicker of something he thought long extinguished. 

And as long as she’s beside him, he knows he’ll be right there with her, finding a new meaning to every breath and every heartbeat, perhaps better than he’d ever dreamed. 

After that day, Ryomen Sukuna stopped having those nightmares about that long suffering concubine.

Instead, he started to dream of a tall man and that long suffering concubine, walking away from him — smiling. Together.

══════════════════

HE WAS LUCKY HE MADE IT. He hadn’t slept much, but it was all worth it. He liked to think that he made his best gallery presentation yet. He knew she liked it just as much as he did. And that had made him even more happy. 

He wasn’t the best of storytellers, he knew that much. Writing was more or less something else to him. But, art like this? He could do it. And so, as he promised, he would make happiness appear on his canvas. He would make that concubine happy again. 

 As the evening progresses, the atmosphere in the gallery transforms, infused with a blend of excitement and reverence. Guests drift in and out, their whispers and laughter weaving a tapestry of shared appreciation for Sukuna's work. 

The vibrant energy of the space pulses with life, but at its core lies a poignant sense of introspection; a collective acknowledgment of the stories each painting holds.

Sukuna stands near the centerpiece, his gaze lingering on the depiction of himself and his concubine, locked in an eternal moment of tenderness. The hues swirl together, capturing not just their faces but the very essence of their souls; a connection that feels almost palpable. Each brushstroke is infused with the weight of longing and regret, but now, standing beside his companion, he recognizes a glimmer of hope amid the sorrow.

As the crowd ebbs and flows, Sukuna finds solace in watching her interact with the guests, her warmth radiating in waves. She engages effortlessly, sharing her thoughts on the art, her enthusiasm infectious.

He catches snippets of their conversations, her laughter ringing out like music, and he can’t help but smile at the ease with which she navigates the social landscape. It’s a stark contrast to his own guarded demeanor, and yet, her presence encourages him to lower his defenses, to engage in this world he once viewed from the shadows.

With each passing moment, Sukuna feels a shift within himself. The uncertainty that had plagued him for so long begins to dissolve, replaced by an exhilarating sense of possibility. As the crowd gradually dwindles, he glances at the painting again, his heart swelling with emotion. It’s more than just an image; it’s a testament to love that transcends time, a narrative that binds past and present.

Suddenly, he turns to find her standing close, her expression reflecting a mixture of admiration and something deeper. “You’ve poured so much of yourself into this, Sukuna.” she says softly, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. “It’s not just about the concubine; it’s about you, too. You’ve laid bare your soul.”

The intensity of her gaze sends a shiver down his spine, and he swallows hard, feeling exposed yet liberated. “I wanted to capture the essence of what we had… to honor her, in my own little ways.” he replies, his voice low and steady. “But I realize now it’s also about my journey. This is as much about my pain as it is about her love.”

She nods, her understanding palpable, and in that moment, he feels a deep connection; there was an unspoken bond that links them through shared experiences and emotions.

The weight of his past no longer feels like a burden; instead, it becomes a source of strength, a wellspring of creativity he can draw from as he embraces this new chapter in his life.

“I think you’ve done an incredible job of that, you know?” she says, her voice softening. “You’ve shown that even in our darkest moments, love remains a guiding light. It’s beautiful.”

Sukuna’s heart races at her words, and he feels a warmth blooming in his chest—a mixture of gratitude and affection. “Thank you, really.” he replies, his voice sincere. “It means a lot to hear that from you. You’ve been… a source of inspiration for me.”

Her smile deepens, and there’s a spark of something electric in the air, a subtle shift that sends his pulse racing. “I’m glad I could be here for you, you know?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s a privilege to witness your journey, to see you reclaim a sad story to a happy one.”

He looks at her, the soft glow of the gallery lights illuminating her features, and he feels a wave of emotion wash over him. For so long, he had been shackled by the weight of his past, haunted by the ghost of his concubine and the mistakes that had led to their separation. But here, in this moment, standing with her amidst the beauty of his creations, he feels the chains loosening.

“Will you stay a little longer?” he asks, almost hesitantly, fearing her response. “I’d like to talk more… about the paintings, about everything.”

Her eyes light up, and the warmth in her smile reassures him. “I’d love that.” she replies, and they find a quieter corner of the gallery, away from the remnants of the evening’s festivities.

As they settle into a cozy nook, surrounded by the lingering essence of art and history, Sukuna feels a sense of calm wash over him. The world outside fades, leaving only the two of them and the unspoken connection that has blossomed between them. 

“What do you see in these paintings?” he asks, eager to hear her perspective.

She leans forward, her gaze thoughtful. “I see love, loss, and resilience. Each piece speaks of a journey, a struggle to find beauty amidst pain. But what resonates most is the longing—the desire to reconnect with something that was lost. It’s powerful.”

He nods, her words echoing his own feelings, and as they discuss each painting in turn, he feels an exhilarating rush of creativity and clarity. The art becomes a conduit for their emotions, a way to explore the complexities of their shared experiences.

They dive deep into conversation, their voices low and intimate, each word exchanged drawing them closer together. She shares her own stories of loss and heartache, of moments when she thought she’d never find her way again. It’s a cathartic exchange, and he listens intently, captivated by her honesty and the strength she exudes.

With each revelation, Sukuna feels the walls that the King of Curses had built around himself begin to crumble. He shares his own struggles, the weight of his legacy, and the guilt that had shadowed him for centuries.

And perhaps, redemption may soon come for him in love.  In this safe space, he finds himself opening up that man, that myth, that curse,  in ways he never thought possible, unearthing emotions he had long buried. 

The night wears on, and as the last of the guests trickle out, the gallery transforms into a cocoon of intimacy. It’s just him and her, surrounded by the echoes of their stories, and for the first time in ages, he feels a sense of belonging—a connection that transcends time and pain.

“I never thought I could feel this way again.” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “After everything I’ve lived through… I thought I’d lost the ability to truly connect with anyone.”

She reaches out, her hand brushing against his in a gentle, reassuring gesture. “You haven’t lost that ability, Sukuna. You’ve just been waiting for the right moment, the right person….the right time.” she says, her gaze steady and filled with warmth. “I’m here now, and I want to be part of your journey.”

The sincerity in her words washes over him, and in that moment, he knows he’s found something rare—a connection that has the potential to redefine his understanding of love, art, and the future. The vulnerability he feels is both terrifying and exhilarating, but he knows he’s ready to embrace it.

As the last notes of music drift into silence and the soft, warm lights dim, the two of them sit close, hands intertwined, surrounded by the vibrant, intimate world he has created.

Each painting on the wall, each sculpture in the dim light feels like a memory brought to life, and she feels him relax beside her, the weight of his past somehow easing with each quiet heartbeat.

His thumb gently strokes her hand, and in that small, tender motion, she feels him say more than words ever could. With her here, in this sanctuary he’s built out of his own creativity and passion, he’s no longer the solitary figure haunted by shadows. He’s simply a man who has finally, against all odds, found someone who can see past his darkness and anchor him in light.

As they stand to leave, his gaze drifts to one of his portraits—a work that captures a moment from another time, another life. In it, the King of Curses sits beside his beloved concubine, her expression full of light and laughter, radiant in a way that suggests an unbreakable bond. 

Ryomen Sukuna pauses, his hand still entwined with hers, and a rare, gentle smile crosses his face.

Looking at the painting, he lets himself hope, just a little. Perhaps, even in a world he once saw as cold and unyielding, there are threads of something beautiful woven into his story. Perhaps, even for someone like him, there could be a happy ending, one he’d never dared to imagine.

He leans down and whispers softly, almost as if confessing a secret. “I like to think they found each other again, you know? That somehow… this time, they got to be happy.”

She squeezes his hand, her eyes shining with warmth and understanding. “I like to think that too.” she replies gently, her voice full of affection.

They walk out together, the cool night air surrounding them as they leave his art behind. And as he catches her smile, he feels his heart swell with gratitude and a strange sense of peace.

For once, he isn’t looking back, haunted by the ghosts of what once was. Instead, he’s looking forward—toward a future that, with her beside him, feels so much brighter than he ever thought possible.

In his heart, he offers a silent prayer, hoping that they’ll continue to find each other, in this life and in all the ones to come. And as they disappear into the night, hands intertwined, this Ryomen Sukuna hopes that the King of Curses finally allows himself to believe that, this time, happiness might be his after all.

══════════════════

THERE WOULD BE NO MEMORY OF THIS WHEN HE’S REBORN. Ryomen Sukuna knows that much. That is the will of the unknown, of the gods unseen and unheard. He does not care much about the propriety of the accuracy. Why should it matter what their name is? He was dead, why should he care?  

In the stillness of the afterlife, everything feels suspended, timeless. Everything was not what he had expected. Long ago, he had resigned himself to the thought that a final death would lead to the depths of burning inferno. And yet, it was not. He was stuck in a journey, a journey that continuously repeats over and over again. 

He does not know what those gods intended with that. What was the purpose designed by the gods? What was the purpose of this journey? He had asked himself that for hundreds of years, walking and walking like the pilgrim he was and yet without end in sight. There was no road that was left to find a stop.

Perhaps, that is until now.

Ryomen Sukuna was the first to notice.

There was a wide shoji that appeared before them.

Ryomen Hiromi was quite unsure about what that was all about. But when she stepped right in front of it, the field protecting it had barred her from even touching it. She pursed her lips in a flat line. This door was not one for her to enter. 

And she probably had already known that. Looking at him with those knowing purple eyes, she knew that it was not for her. It was for him. The gods had sent him a path, and it was not to be with her. It was a road for him to take, a road that was for him. Only him.

He took a short step towards it and allowed his hands to feel the space occupied by the massive wooden shoji. His touch could pierce its space. It was truly for him. There was no mistake in that. Uraume looked at him with a tense uncertainty. His most loyal Uraume is quite that timid  child, still. Just as when Sukuna had met them years and years ago. 

For a moment, it reminded him of Chizuru. That gentleness of that youth, that tenderness of youth. He could only see his little one. The little one that he misses most. His soul is already at peace, and perhaps Sukuna would never see him again. 

He doesn’t deserve to. He wasn’t a good father to him. But moments like this, it gives him relief. Even if Chizuru didn’t need him anymore, then someone else did. And that someone still needed him. Even if he wasn’t the person suited to be needed.

Sukuna looked down at them, and then nodded reassuringly. Uraume reached forward and gasped. Their touch too pierced through its barrier. Of course, Sukuna thought to himself. Uraume tied their entire life to him.

They were one in the same. The loyal servant cannot live without the master. No, no. Sukuna corrects himself. There was always a need for someone. People will always need people.

He stands there idly as Ryomen Hiromi stood beside him, though keeping a distance. Everything around them had grown brighter. Brighter than before. All that surrounded them had been bathed in a soft, eternal light that neither burns nor fades. 

This place, this moment, is for closure—a place where the bonds of the past can either linger or be released. A purgatory for souls, sinner or not. All souls look the same to the gods. Well, that’s what Hiromi had told him.

Sukuna’s gaze rests on Hiromi, taking in the warmth in her expression, the calmness in her presence. Even here, she glows with an inner light that he has always cherished. Serene as the moonlight, as mellow as the clouds. 

There had always been a quiet grace that no one could replicate. He had known that in his long lifetime. And for as long as he had lived, he thought that his job had been to protect it. To protect her. No matter what, with everything in him —  even if it often meant tearing down the world around him.

For a long while, they simply stand together, the weight of their shared history resting between them. A thousand years, feeling even more than that, reflected in the understanding that came in the silence. He had known her too well, she had known him too well.

There was nothing left between them. Only knowing. And perhaps, that’s why it wouldn’t have ever worked. He thinks about that. Knowing someone, even too well, will never truly be living a life with them. 

There was too much he did not know about her life. There was much she did not know about his own. They had lived lives that grew out of their tender love. People who loved each other so much, that they risked everything in the world — finally became two boats in the night waiting for each other to pass. 

Perhaps that’s all that there could be, he thinks about it now. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he still does love  her — they were parallel lines. Right people, wrong place. Right place, wrong time. 

That in itself was hard to admit, he knows that. He always has. But it was hard to say. It was hard to accept. Perhaps it always will be. Yet there is so much more beyond that grief of something already lost. Of life already lived and passed by. No matter how much he wants to follow Ryomen Hiromi with all the love in his heart, with all the devotion given from all his life, there will always be fate. And fate knows better than he. 

As much as he tries, he was not a god.

He will never be one, he has tried to be.

He was just a sinner, a cruel cursed sinner.

Taking a deep breath, Sukuna speaks, his voice soft, yet resolute. "I can feel it, Hiromi." he says, looking down at his feet. “Somewhere out there……..I am soon to be reborn. Soon….I must enter this door.”

Ryomen Hiromi’s face softens, and a knowing smile tugs at her lips. She tilts her head, teasing, but with a hint of sadness that she can’t entirely hide. How could she? Ryomen Sukuna was her person. He was her family. Her dearest friend, her confidant.  The man she loved, still does love. The love of her life. 

But she knew that he was not yet ready. Perhaps he will never be ready to move forward like this. There was much tying him to the world of the living. To the earthly life. And she knew it wouldn't be her. It will never be her. 

She could see it in the corner of his scarlet eyes. He too had lived a life. He had moved on. And he wants to see that loved one again. He wants to return. Even if he does not know it. He wants to see that smile on her face again.

"So, you’ll stop following me now, huh?"

He chuckles, the sound quiet, almost reverent, as he brings her hand to his chest. "I’ll love you most in the world, you know that.” he murmurs, each word weighed with truth. “You were the part of me that was good, Hiromi. Everything I am….was because of you.”

She looks at him, shaking her head. She remains smiling. “Endless flattery is not your style.”

His eyes warmed towards her. “It is not flattery if it's true. You know that most. I do not lie, not easily. Not without reason.”

“I know.” She huffs back in response, her eyes lowered to the floor. “I know you too well.”

“I need to go. You know that. There are still…..too much left undone. I have a lot to make amends for, things I must repair.” His voice grows steady, almost solemn. “I need to start with someone else I love. Someone who’s waiting, on the other side of the shore.”

Hiromi’s gaze flickers, her surprise shifting to understanding. There’s a light in her bright purple eyes, a pride that only deepens as she studies his face. For a moment, she wondered when he had grown up. When had he aged this well, lived this well. A part of her mourns the things they never saw. But she knew it was too late. He had someone else waiting to see those sides of him now. 

“I always hoped you’d find something worth living for, beyond me. Beyond our clan. Beyond Jujutsu.” she says, her words carrying an emotion he hadn’t expected. She laughs. “You’ve done well, Sukuna. I know you would. And now you’re better at admitting your faults. You’ve….you’ve truly grown up! Father and uncle would be so glad to see it, don’t you think?”

The weight of her words settles deeply into him, her silent devotion across lifetimes coming into sharp focus. Ryomen Sukuna closes his eyes, feeling the immensity of all that they’ve shared, all that he’s never truly expressed. 

“There’s still much for me to set right, Hiromi.” He looks at her, his expression softening as he finally speaks the words he’s never quite managed to say before. “But the love we shared… It's the best part of me. It’s the part of me I want to carry into the next life. Everything you taught me, it will be for the better.”

A soft laugh escapes her once more, and she shakes her head as if she’s hearing a promise she’s waited lifetimes for him to make. Her hand reaches up, gentle, almost motherly, as she brushes a stray hair back from his face. Leaning in, she presses a delicate kiss to his cheek. 

“You don’t have to say anything else. I’ve always known you loved me.” She pulls back slightly, her hand lingering against his face. “I’ll always love you too, Sukuna. But we have different lives now. Paths that aren’t tied together anymore. No paths are bound, after all. Isn’t that what was taught?” 

Her words are tender but firm, and he nods, finally accepting what she’s known all along. “I know.” he whispers, the smile on his face tinged with the bittersweet ache of goodbye. “But I think I’ll be alright, night flower. I’ve found something, someone… who I believe can make me better. She’s out there, waiting.”

For a moment, she could feel her heart shatter. In that moment, to remember what he had called her. With those words, with that tone of finality. With that tone of farewell. She could feel the warmth of water echo through her eyes. But she tries to make sure they do not pour. Those tears shouldn’t be poured. Not for him. He does not need it. She must send him happily. She must send him off with a smile. A good farewell.

Hiromi pulls away, her hand slipping from his, though her gaze remains fixed on him with a profound love and pride. Her bright eyes gleamed at him, even brighter than before. She smiles at him, though he could notice how tight it was. No matter how happy she is for him — she will mourn. She can’t help it. 

“Then, I want you to find her, hm?” she says softly, the conviction in her voice like a benediction. “Find her and find your happiness, the kind that lasts. The kind that you finally deserve.”

He nods, and there’s a rare, open softness in his expression, a gratitude as deep as the ages they’ve spent together. He takes a good look at her, as though he was memorizing this moment. For as long as it still lasts, he wants to remember it. He wants to remember her, giving her blessing. 

“Then, I’ll go, nightflower.” he says, his voice low and filled with purpose. “I’ll find her… and try to live the life I dreamed of with you.”

Hiromi smiles gently, and with one last lingering look, she turns to leave, pausing only to say. “Someday, I hope to meet her too—the one who brought you peace. Bring her back with you. So that I may thank her for taking care of you.”

He nodded at her. He takes a deep breath as he lowers his gaze and sees Uraume looking at him, as though asking for courage. Sukuna takes Uraume’s hand and tightly grips it, but is careful not to hurt them. A ghostly smile appears on his face, beaming it towards them. 

Uraume could feel their eyes glisten as they felt the warmth of that smile. Uraume could feel warmth in them, tenderness — tenderness that molds their will to live with courage. Sukuna turns his head slightly, looking at Hiromi. His smile gets wider, and becomes more honest than before. She smiled at him, waving him off. 

As he and Uraume walked towards the shoji, Ryomen Hiromi knew that she too has to move away. Ryomen Sukuna slowly watches her walk away into the path of light, alone, feeling the weight of a thousand lifetimes lifting from his shoulders. He could feel his breath hitch as he watches her walk away, perhaps for the final time, perhaps until they get reborn again. 

If you were not waiting for him, if he had not met you, if he had not loved you — perhaps he would have turned away from these doors and moved towards the path of life and rejected rebirth. He would have let his soul rest in peace for all of time. But he knows that he was no longer that person anymore. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to break the cycle. He wanted to be with you.

Ryomen Sukuna is ready to face the world again, this time with a purpose that is as clear as the love he feels for the woman he will now seek.  He must atone. He must live a new life. He must make you happy. 

Both of you will be happy, he knows that. And as he steps forward, towards his own rebirth, he carries her blessings, his heart finally open to the happiness he had once believed was out of reach. He will live it now. He will atone, he will find redemption. He will make you happy.

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: I'm feral for this man and this song + struggling w my writing format ( im new to this omg )

JADED | AARON PIERRE.

Toxic!Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader.

warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions of but not limited to; sexual content ( finger!ng), extreme language (cursing, use of n-word, use of b-word), talking you through it. lil bit of exhibitionism if you squint, mild daddy k!nk.

summary: in which you decide to end the toxic situation-ship you share with Terry— except this man only know how to suck you back in.

tell me that we locked in, locked in, look in my eyes.

tell me that you mine and we ain't just fuckin, ain't just vibin.

Why were you nervous? It wasn't like you'd never been in the very same GMC pickup before—oh you'd been in here plenty times, plenty times. Your eyes flickered to whatever they could, other than him.

The backseat.

The same backseat you'd been folded. flipped, and fucked out on. It was clean now, he'd definitely had some detailing done, the remnants of how he made you squirt only two weeks earlier had vanished, once etched into the seat itself.

And why were you sad about that?

You averted your eyes away from the backseat, firmly turning straight forward in the passenger seat, teeth nervously gnawing at the skin in your jaw. It was way too silent and tense in the truck. Way too silent. "Hi..” you sheepishly muttered, tucking a stray curl from your wash and go behind your ear, eyes darting around the parking lot of your apartment complex. The parking lot was the safest option for you, you knew how incredibly intoxicating Terry was, which meant the more space from your bedroom, the better.

Out of your peripheral, you could see Terry's face contorted into a twisted mix of confusion anger. His brows furrowed together, a mug presenting itself on his face. "What the fuck?" He spat. "Wassup?" He asked, his tone more accusatory than anything.

Where the fuck did he get off acting hurt and confused? That was supposed to be your stance in this whole thing, hurt and confused. And most of the time it was. But tonight, it was a nice change of pace, the hurt and confusion lingered on Terry instead—in which you could finally take on the nonchalant and curt demeanor. It felt so good too. So good to finally not be the one with the lump in their throat, eyes burning from blinking back tears. This felt, good.

"Nothin', just chillin," you simply responded, playing with the smartphone in your lap, acrylic nails tapping at the casing.

"Fuck you mean just chillin?" He asked his brows furrowed as he tried to catch your darting eyes. "You ain't been seein' me text you?"

"Yeah?" You responded slowly in a questioning tone, as you focused on the ASICS on your feet. "Been busy lately."

You seen Terry texts. Shit, the past couple of days he'd been the one blowing you up. It started the other night when he rung your bell and you didn't answer, you knew it was him, and he knew you were home. Lights still on and bright in the kitchen.

Private Ryan: Just rung the bell

Private Ryan: Come out.

Private Ryan: I'm sorry for the way I acted the other night. I ain't handle that situation like a man. Lemme make it up to u

It was so hard ignoring Terry, he made it hard. He didn't text or call often, he wasn't hardcore into his phone like the rest of the generation, maybe the marines played a part in that? Hell, he made sure to stay active in an effort not to get addicted to his cellular device—that's why when he texted it was a big deal.

But no way this nigga thought that you'd be at his every beck and call when he couldn't even solidify a title between the two of you? Casual sex and jealousy gets old—especially when it isn't under the terms of a relationship.

It was fun at first, linking up and sneaking off. Getting folded like a lawn chair when you least expected it, but there was something about Terry that brung the strings to a no-strings-attached situation. You started craving him, wanting him, and you made that very clear, but Terry made his intentions crystal clear from the beginning. How could you fault him for not wanting what you want? But how he could he also fault you for the change in your attitude?

"Busy?" He repeated the word like it disgusted him. His burning gaze tore through you, you could feel the heat radiating from his glare. Terry let out a heavy breath, gently tapping his fist against the staring wheel as he finally averted his gaze to the windshield. Thank Q!

But as he tore his gaze away from you, you centered yours on him. And why the fuck would you go and do that? Knowing how gorgeous he was, especially when he was pissed off? Clenching and unclenching his jaw. He had some nerve coming over here with a fresh cut. Everything so lined up and sexy—

"I came over here, a few days ago," he sternly spoke, the rough edge to his voice only setting off the throbbing in your pussy, "and you know that 'cause you was home, lights on and shit, I'm textin' you and you reading the shit in real time. What the fuck?" He repeated the three words once again. His voice growing rougher by the second.

"Two weeks ago, I'm fillin' you up and today you actin' cold as hell? Fuck is goin on?"

And why did he keep saying all the wrong shit? Filling you up was an understatement, he was stuffing you to the brim quite literally, to the point where he had bottomed out and was still tryna give you more. Filling you up, ha.

"I can't do this anymore, Terry," the words came out of your mouth abruptly, almost like you could trust yourself to say them. Terry sat there unwavering, he didn't speak, he didn't move. This only prompted you to continue. "It's too much, we both want...different things. And I'm tired of feeling like I'm overextending myself to you, being too available for you. I can't do...whatever this is anymore."

"Pea..”

"Don't do that," you firmly responded. The direct eye contact didn't seem to deter you this time. There he went. Playing those mind games. Calling you that nickname. Pea. A shorter version of the popular nickname your grandfather frequently referred to you as, sweet pea.

Terry kissed his teeth. Oh he thought he knew what was up. It'd became clear as a day. "You fuckin' somebody else." The words came out soft, quiet almost as if there had been a realization.

You let out a heavy sigh, your eyes rolling at the comment, " I'm not having sex with anyone, Terry." You spoke truthfully. As if you could. He made that hard enough, he stuffed you perfectly. He knew how to find that spot inside of you so easily, almost like he vacationed there in his spare time. He knew exactly what made your eyes roll back, what made that squeal in the back of your throat come barreling out, he knew your body too well to let anyone else come and have a gander.

"But I am dating," you said more quietly than you anticipated. Maybe it's because the recent dates haven't been anything to brag about. Not that your online dating profile and messages to your homegirl hadn't been highly specific, you've been attracting the same types. Baby daddies and men way too old to still be trying to just hook up. "And I know what I want, and it's not this...anymore. I wanna be able to climb in bed with a man and wake up beside him too, and not worry about him being hot or cold, or when I'll see him again," yuck. Why did you feel that damn lump in your throat again?

"I'm so tired of feeling disposable." You finalized. Flashing your watery eyes to the window adjacent to you. You weren't gonna cry in front of him. Shit, you weren't that tender. But all your feelings hitting you at once in this situation made you more emotional than you gambled for. You knew the nonchalant facade would only last so long on you. Terry was trained in that shit. He had a poker face like no other.

Terry didn't deter his gaze from you, his gorgeous eyes soft and lingering. "I don't try to make you feel disposable, Pea."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to try. You just do." You mumbled quietly. "That's why I don't wanna do this shit anymore."

Terry kept his eyes on you, reaching his large hand out to grasp your smaller one at a failed attempt at interlacing your fingers when you snatched away.

"Stop, Terry!" You frowned folding your arms. "I'm serious. No more calling, and texting, and popping up at my place."

He barely acknowledged you, kissing his teeth and leaning over the center console to rub his hand across your tummy, gripping your sides. "Why you actin' like that? Like you don't miss daddy?" He mumbled softly, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

This man didn't give up. Your restraint was at zero, and just like that you were putty.

You shook your head, arms still crossed as you let out a small whimper in which you claimed to be a protest. Eyes lowering at his wandering hands. "Hm, you don't miss daddy?" He asked in response, his hand sliding back over your tummy, fingers fondling with the button on your shorts.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, that was the whole point of the parking lot. Far away from a bed. But you should've known that you didn't need a bed with Terry.

And yet, just like a dumb bitch you shook your head once again. Playing into his sick little game.

He trailed his soft, teasing lips down your cheek until he reached your neck, leaving a searing trail behind on the skin there. You sucked your bottom lip in, a solid attempt at trying to keep whatever moans he was pulling out of you at bay. You couldn't betray yourself even more than you had already done. You came down here to end things, and instead you were about to get folded in half once again. The circle of life if you will.

"You don't miss me? So why you lettin' me take these off you right now?" He asked. Oh he was soo condescending. He tugged on the bottom of your shorts, and look at you, lifting up to help him earning a chuckle. You were so easy. "Nipples been hard ever since I touched you," he mumbled in between kisses to your neck, his hand busying itself up to your breast while your shorts slid down your legs, rubbing your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your tank top.

You suck in a sharp breath. Your body was on fire. You felt like you were on fire. Every kiss made you hotter, and the way he was touching you had your pussy fluttering. You had to be ovulating, this shit wasn't normal.

"That pussy so wet, I know it," he spoke, his voice lower, lips sucking on the thin flesh on the side of your neck, hand roughly parting your thighs earning another isolated whimper from you. His hand rubbing the inside of your thighs, leaving a lingering tingle behind. He was such a fucking tease sometimes.

He kissed his way back to your cheek, all the while his hands left soft slaps, and grips to your inner thigh. Your eyes fluttered closed at his constant teasing, breathing uneven as hell. You felt like you were swelling with need.

"Look at you, baby," he hummed against your ear, "you a horny fuckin' mess," he tsk'd in your ear, fingers dancing over to your pussy. Fingers lazing dancing over your slit through the thin fabric of your panties. A shaky breath slipped past your lips a soft drawn out moan following. Hell, the betrayal was already done.

"Niggas not treatin' my bitch right, huh?" He rhetorically asked referring to your dates, his own eyes focusing on the lazy dance his fingers were doing on your barely exposed pussy, until he quickly got bored and used those same fingers to move the fabric aside. "Can't be, otherwise you wouldn't be this fuckin' turned on right now." He answered his own questions, fingers immediately doing slow, hypnotizing circles on your clit.

"Fuhhh," you moaned out in response, arms immediately parting so that you could grip onto the sides of your seat for a sense of stability.

"Mhm," he hummed in response, "pussy wet just like I thought," he mumbled dragging his pointer and middle finger up and down your pussy a few times before slowly slipping the both of them in your heated core at once earning a choked out moan from you. You fit around his fingers so perfectly, almost as if he'd molded your pussy to do so.

His brows furrowed as his fingers searched inside of her, knuckle deep, "fuck," he cursed, "look how you suckin' my fingers in you like that. You missed daddy, this fuckin' pussy missed me."

It wasn't like you could respond at all, he was literally pulling your moans out of you with his fingers. His free hand had busied itself with pulling up your tank top and exposing your braless titties.

"Look how you came out here," he kissed his teeth, fingers massaging your slippery insides, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching on his fingers filled the pickup truck, his other fingers pulling and tugging on your hardened nipples, squeezing softly before quickly pulling away. "Barely fuckin' dressed, you wanted this. You wanted daddy to get you right, huh?"

"Talkin' about' dates, you don't want them fuckin' clowns," he hummed peppering soft kisses on your cheek, his fingers attacking that delicious spot inside of you. "You just want daddy to flood that pussy again? Make you his bitch?"

"Oouu shit, daddy!" You moaned out, eyes squeezing shut as your head lazily fell against his shoulder. Him humming in agreement to your moans followed by a cocky chuckle. "Right there, right there!" You rushed out. Your resolve had slipped away a long time ago.

"Where baby?" He cooed,his tone condescending. "Right here?" He asked his fingers never deterring from the spot, instead he pushed them deeper, faster.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as his fingers continued to work inside of you, he whispered other obscenities to you as he finger fucked you good. Deliciously good. So good that you couldn't decipher or comprehend anything he'd been saying. The sound of your pussy around his fingers was sending you to another bliss you didn't know you could reach.

"Listen to how messy that pussy sound on my fingers, baby," he groaned, his free hand gripping your face firmly, tilting your head up from his shoulder so that he could watch your facial expressions closely. He smiled as he watched you; eyes squeezed shut, lips forming into that familiar frown he knew so well, a long whine following suit.

"Yeah, that pussy wanna cum for daddy don't she?" He asked placing a sloppy kiss on your parted lips.

"Oh my god," you whined your brows furrowing as you opened your watery eyes to Terry looking down right at you.

"Yeah, she do," he mumbled nodding his eyes focusing in on the assault his fingers were doing to your pussy before slipping them out slowly, rubbing the stickiness he accumulated on his fingers onto your clit in slow, agonizing circles earning a whine from you. "You better not fuckin' cum though," he mumbled quietly to you, hand softly tapping against your cheek.

"Don't..cum?" You slurred through a moan for confirmation. You could barely comprehend what he was saying, you were so deliciously close. So close.

"Don't cum," he slapped his finger against your pussy lightly, the wet plaps almost enough to send you over the edge. Only almost though. "Get in the backseat, I wanna get in that pussy." He spoke hand slapping down on your sensitive pussy once again, sending trembles to your already weakened legs.

—

cheers to my first fanfic on here lolz! feedback and criticism always welcome 💗💕 hope you enjoyed xx!

[littlefreya]

Pictures of You

Summary: While Sy is deployed, his new girlfriend sends him nudes, and now he must take care of 'business' himself while fantasizing about the things he would do to her.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x himself x OFC

Word count: 1,200

Warnings: 18+ (Minors DNI), pure smut, graphic depiction of sex (male x female), male masturbation, bodily fluids, accidental creampie, dirty language, punishment, Freya using "peach". Being caught in the act. A bit of fluff. Not beta'd.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, translating, copying it, or parts of it and claiming it as your own*

A/N: It's been a while since I posted. I am working on a series (plural), but I got inspired by a lovely anon today. I'm not sure if I'm tagging anyone since my tag list is probably outdated and I'm not sure who still wants on. So, if you enjoyed, reblog, or comment, let me know. I'd appreciate it. 🖤

Pictures of You

At last, night unfurled, and the camp became quiet. 

The glorified Captain retired to his quarters, exhausted from a day of training recruits and tedious paperwork. This deployment would be long, and though he loved being The Captain - Logan Syverson was beginning to miss home.

It was all because of her. Sy shouldn't have caught feelings, long-distance relationships were never his thing, but damn, she was something else; a woman way above his league, pretty, hot as hell and way too smart to be with a military grunt like him.

Needless to say, fucking her made him feel like a god. 

Stripping down to his boxer, Sy slumped into his bed with a huff and reached for the private cell phone stuffed in his drawer. 

Twenty unanswered messages appeared on the screen—three of them from her.

Joy painted his face at the sight of her name. Ignoring everything else, he went directly to read her messages.

“Missing my big Sy”, the first message read. 

The other - “something to make you think of me.”  

The last message was simply an attachment. Curious, Sy tapped it open.

‘Fucking hell.’

The unmistakable pang of desire instantly surged through his groin. 

There she was, his sweet woman, naked and spread open like a present unwrapped, especially for him. She was sitting on her bed, one breast gripped by her palm with her nipple peeking through dark-painted nails while her other hand toyed with the sweet peach between her thighs. 

“Fuck,” Sy muttered. Already rock-hard. Absentmindedly, his hand massaged the hefty bulge through the fabric of his boxers, eliciting a deep groan from under his breath. 

‘What are you doing to me, babygirl?” 

It wasn’t just her naked body and the way her finger teased her own slit, but the look she gave him, the familiar neediness in her gaze, the way she bit her lip. 

Damn, if she was here right now… He’d fucking punish her for teasing him so bad! He’d pin her to the wall with his hand around her throat and show her what happens to naughty girls who like playing such wicked games. 

Now he had three fucking months to go, and all he could think of was how bad he wanted to be inside her tight little cunt.

‘Well, guess I’ll have to take care of this myself…’

Springing his cock free from his boxers, he ran his rough fingers up and down the length of his imposing shaft - slow at first, as Sy enjoyed taking his time, just as he would with her. His thumb rolled across the crown of his cock, gently grazing the tip while he imagined flipping her against the pitted wall in this room. Make her take it from behind so he could look at that perfect rounded ass of hers and watch his cock slipping in and out of her body. 

Still holding the photo open, he focused on her succulent cunt before spitting onto his open palm and griping himself once again. Tighter this time, he squeezed onto his girth and began to fuck his own hand. 

Pants and groans sputtered from his mouth, his chest heaving as he gradually picked up the pace. In his fantasy, he parted her ass cheeks and teased her dripping little hole until she begged him to fuck him. Then he forced himself all the way in, making her cry out. 

The sounds of her moans echoed in his memory, so helpless and desperate at the same time - he was nearly too much for her; that narrow cavern of hers could barely take his leviathan cock, but still, she took every pounding, becoming wetter around his shaft as her body not only yielded to accommodate him but lured him deeper inside. 

“I want inside you, babygirl…” Sy mumbled out loud, his hand now moving in ecstatic fervour. Sweat dripped down the contracting muscles of his abs. Soon, he felt himself swell even larger, and his sack strained with the desperate need for release. 

He tightened his grip, now choking his shaft and thinking of how it felt when she came around him. How she contracted all around his cock and shattered like glass smashing on the floor.

“Don’t come inside….” She’d warned him. She wasn’t on the pill. But this time, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from filling her full of his cum, and maybe… he wouldn’t want to… 

It was his fantasy, after all. 

“FUCK!!!” 

With the image spilling inside her, he allowed himself to be swept by the fierce waves of pleasure, his entire body buzzing with bliss as hot, thick ribbons of ecstasy spilt over his fingers. He might have shouted too loudly, but it’s not like he ever gave a fuck. 

It took Sy a few good minutes to climb down to earth, and then he chuckled hoarsely as he noticed the mess he had left on his hand. Shaking his head, he reached for a towel and wiped himself clean before returning to gaze at her photo. 

“What am I gonna do with you, doll?”

Well, there was an idea. He could repay the favour by sending her a photo of himself. Usually, he was against this type of stuff, but what she did was particularly risky for a woman, and if she was bold enough to treat him, he could do the same. Besides, they had three months until they could meet again. He better make sure she remembered who she belonged to.  

He stroked himself lightly. Still semi-hard, he wondered whether he could work himself to another erection this soon when a knock sounded at the door.

“Mother of f…. One moment !!!” 

Sy yelled. Irritated, he briefly tucked his shaft back in his boxers and jumped out of bed. The room smelled rancid, but Sy couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t even bring himself to put on a shirt as he rushed to the door.

“What?” He grunted before getting to see who was on the other side.

‘Well, fuck me sideways.’

It was a woman because why the hell not? Private Hicks, to be precise. The young thing’s eyes flared with surprise and then snapped to the floor to avoid staring at her sweaty, half-naked superior, but not before catching a glance of his hairy, tattooed chest and the semi-erected bulge in his groin.

The strong scent of sweat and sex hit her nostrils like a smack in the face. It took everything not to curl her face. There was no need to put two and two together to realise what she had just intruded. 

“Sir.” Hicks saluted in badly hidden embarrassment. 

Sy let out a deep sigh. Clearly, she knew what he was doing before she arrived. She probably heard him come all over himself right before knocking. Frankly, he wasn’t ashamed. 

“Get on with it, Private.”

“Sir,” she repeated, her voice a slight tremble. “ I’m sorry to bother you… but the Major asked me to get you.” 

Sy scratched the back of his head and groaned deeply. “Tell him I’ll be there in 10.” 

Without any other comment, he shut the door, leaving Hicks to wander back to the Major’s office, all shaken and quaking. 

As she walked away, she couldn’t help but bite her lips. All across her body, she felt those little electric streams of excitement, and her breath suddenly became shallow. She shouldn’t have thought of her superior like this, on what he did behind that closed door just a moment before she arrived, but Captain Syverson was too hot to handle and, needless to say, too loud. 

Well, she’d have to take care of herself later…